Dramatis Personae
by Diocletian
Summary: ON HIATUS. PostHogwarts. Aurors, Unspeakables, and sinister secret societies abound in the turmoil that surrounds the Ministry of Magic after a disaster strikes. Ginny investigates, while the others are just trying to work.
1. Alpha

Author's Notes: Um, well, the story takes place a number of years after Hogwarts. Aurors, Unspeakables, ambassadors and secret societies abound in the political turmoil that surrounds the Ministry of Magic—while Ron and the others are busy just trying to get through the next week at work. Oh, and a HUGE thank-you goes out to Avie for doing the beta-thing! Love ya, dear!  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. don't belong to me, but to JK Rowling, WB and the assorted publishing companies and such. I'm making no money off of this and no copyright infringement is intended. Enjoy!  
  
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DRAMATIS PERSONAE  
  
Prologue  
  
By Diocletian  
  
* * * * *  
  
August 14, 2005:  
  
Ruben Frump nervously studied the other patrons inside the Genesis Café as he came in the door, wiping a light glistening of sweat off of his forehead with a kerchief from his pocket. The warm, badly-lit building was nearly empty at that time of night: aside from the teenaged waitress there were only six other people inside. In the middle of the room two elderly, blue- haired women sat chatting quietly over their shopping bags while a middle- aged man, tall with neat dark hair, sat a few seats down from them, sipping coffee and trying to read a newspaper. A younger man, short, with highlighted brown hair, sat reading a Tom Clancy novel at a table only a few feet away from where Ruben stood beside the door.  
  
The last two customers sat near the back of the room. A slight young red- headed woman, about the same age as the diminutive brunette by the door, was scribbling furiously into a notebook and pushing a pair of reading glasses further up her nose every ten seconds or so. And a few tables closer to the back wall, a frowning man was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and a long overcoat, which was decidedly strange because, even though the summer sun had set hours ago, the night was still so hot and humid that you could probably fry an egg on the pavement outside. This was the man that Ruben had come to see.  
  
Trying to seem nonchalant, Ruben crossed the room and took a seat beside the man in the overcoat, carefully placing the small duffel bag he was carrying on the floor beneath his chair. None of the other patrons gave him more than a brief glance as he sat down and Ruben tried to relax.  
  
"Dr. Frump," the man stated in a rough voice. It wasn't a question, but Ruben nodded anyway. "You are late. I am assuming that you have brought the merchandise we asked for?" Licking his lips nervously, Ruben nodded again and tried to discreetly wipe the sweat from his forehead. The other man smiled tightly, but his tone remained cold. "Good. That's very good. Would you like some pie, Dr. Frump?"  
  
"Well, er, not real—"  
  
"Miss, would you get this man some pie, please?" The waitress he was speaking to nodded and quickly sliced him a piece of apple pie, bringing it over to their table, grabbing a coffeepot on the way.  
  
"More coffee?" she asked. The man in the coat shook his head. The waitress went back towards the counter, pausing only to pour another cup for the redheaded girl at the nearby table when she asked for a refill.  
  
Ruben stared at the pie in front of him for a while, waiting for the other man to continue, but he didn't. Ruben, who was getting antsy, broke the silence instead. "Do you have the money?"  
  
His contact nodded. "You will be well compensated. You need not worry about that, Dr. Frump."  
  
Ruben nervously ate a forkful of his pie. "You'd better be right about that. I could get in a lot of trouble because of this. Fired or worse. If you get caught doing something with any of that stuff, you've never met me. We got that straight?"  
  
"Of course, Dr. Frump." The other man reached behind his chair and pulled out a briefcase, placing it on the table and pushing it to Ruben. "The payment promised for your services," he explained. "I suggest you wait until I leave before opening it. No need to draw attention to yourself. And I would also appreciate it if you handed me that duffel bag now."  
  
Ruben pulled the bag out from under his chair and quickly pushed it across the table, his eyes wide at the sight of the large briefcase. But something in the other man's tone set off a small warning bell at the back of his mind. He took hold of the handle and pulled it over. Unable to resist, despite the warning and the other man's attempt to stop him when he saw what Ruben was about to do, he unlatched it and pulled it open. And inside he found...  
  
Nothing. Well, there was a small cube of clay or something at the bottom, but there certainly wasn't any money. Brow furrowed in confusion, Ruben looked up from the case. Facing him, his contact wore a stony expression, obviously unhappy that Ruben had disobeyed him, and pulled what looked like a small stick out of his pocket. "What the hell? What did you do with my money?" Ruben demanded.  
  
"Muggles," the man said quietly, raising his stick. "So very impatient. If you had only done what I asked and waited until I left, you would never have gotten the opportunity to notice this small indiscretion. I do apologize for the inconvenience, Dr. Frump. *Imperi*—"  
  
"PUT THE WAND DOWN!"  
  
The new voice came from the redhead who'd been sitting at the nearby table. Ginny Weasley was standing now, and she had a stick in her hand too. The notebook she'd been writing in had disappeared and her glasses had been carelessly flung aside. Behind her, the short young man who'd been sitting by the door reading had copied her stance in front of the door, blocking the exit and clutching yet another stick in his own hand. The girl's brow furrowed with impatience. "I said put it DOWN, Nott! NOW!"  
  
The man in the overcoat, Nott, spread his arms out slowly, his fingers relaxing and his wand drooping uselessly in his hand. The redhead kept her wand pointed at him and took a few steps forward, guarding him against making any sudden movements while her partner started to conjure up some bindings. Two more wizards slowly entered through the back door and another came out of the men's washroom, each carrying either a camera or a tape- recording device and pointing their wands at Nott. And then all hell broke loose.  
  
All of a sudden the muggle man with neat hair who had been reading a newspaper before the chaos had erupted leapt from his seat. He gripped a thin cord in his hands and, before anyone realized what was happening, he had it wrapped around the redhead's neck from behind and pulled it taut. The girl's wand clattered to the floor as she gagged and her hands flew to her neck, trying to free herself. The short young man by the door let out a shout and ran at the man. "GINNY!"  
  
The muggle man saw him coming and yanked the choke cord upwards, locking his elbows. Ginny was pulled backwards against the man, who was almost a foot taller than she, and then yanked slightly off to the left as she was slowly suffocated. When her partner came to rescue her, Ginny's captor kicked him sharply in the stomach. Colin Creevey was knocked to the floor by the force of the impact and the pain kept him there for more than a few seconds afterward.  
  
Meanwhile, Nott had quickly taken advantage of the situation and stupefied the wizard who had remained standing outside of the men's bathroom. The other two wizards had ducked for cover behind the cashier's counter and continued exchanging curses with Nott while the waitress screamed and repeatedly slapped at them with an empty pie plate. Ruben Frump had hidden behind an overturned table and was muttering to himself, apparently praying.  
  
Colin had managed to get a hold of his senses. He looked back at Ginny and her captor, her purpling face swollen with blood, dying in front of his eyes, and a half-arsed plan formed in his head. He wasn't very good at this whole combat thing, it wasn't anywhere in his job description, but he knew he had to try. He sent a curse towards the two, but pulled it off to the side a second before it hit them and rejoiced to see the muggle back up nervously. He couldn't send a curse that would actually hit him because Ginny was in the way, but they worked well as a scare tactic. He sent another, making this one veer off to the other side, and hoped Ginny was still sensible enough to realize what he was doing as her captor backed into the wall.  
  
He need not have worried. To a person who is suffocating to death, there is no other thought in their mind than somehow being able to breathe again, by any means possible. Their natural reaction is to struggle as fiercely as possible until they faint. And backing up, the muggle had loosened his hold on the choke cord a tiny bit, enough for Ginny's feet to get sure, solid footing again and her neck to straighten just to the point of being able to nudge her captor's chin with the top of her head as she adjusted. Because the only thing on her mind was to get free, preferably as quickly as possible, Ginny went into action the instant she realized how much taller the man was. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.  
  
As opposed to getting out of the man's grip as she had been attempting, the redhead suddenly, almost thoughtlessly, leaned further into him. This had the result of both startling the man and loosening the cord around her neck about half an inch, enough to manage a single, painful breath. Strangely enough, it was only then, when she received that reminder of what exactly it felt like to breathe properly again, that she realized how close she had come to dying just a second ago. Instantly and ferociously enraged at the man who was STILL trying to kill her, she jammed her head up and back, into the man's Adam's apple. He choked and she furiously repeated the action again and again, fighting the gagging that fell from her mouth as his hands spasmodically jerked the cord tighter around her neck. After five direct strikes, her captor was sufficiently distracted to the point where Ginny managed to pull away slightly and get in position to kick. Her leg bent back and struck her assailant between the legs with enough force to kick open a locked door.  
  
It had the desired effect. The muggle gasped in pain and fell down upon his knees, realizing that she just wasn't worth the trouble of hanging onto and releasing his grip on the cord. Ginny staggered forward and her partner sent a quick 'Stupefy' at the man before checking to see if she was okay.  
  
Ginny was only about half conscious as she gasped and wheezed, sobbing for breath, but at least she WAS breathing. Colin glanced up to make sure that the situation with Nott was under control before helping Ginny into a chair. She was hacking harshly now and had a hand on her throat. Blood vessels in her eyes had burst, speckling the white with tiny dark red stains as they bulged out of her equally red face. "Colin—"she rasped, but her friend shook his head, silencing her. He held her gently while she bent over and choked the air back into her lungs.  
  
Nott, after a brief, but furious struggle, had been subdued and was now under the influence of Petrificus Totalus. The two wizards who had taken him down were currently reviving their fallen comrade, a young Irish wizard named Cary O'Day, and making sure he was all right. When they were sure he'd be okay, one went to make sure Nott was completely secure while the other came to check on Ginny. Colin noticed something out of the corner of his eye and, after giving Ginny a reassuring pat on the shoulder, went to the back of the room.  
  
Quivering behind his overturned table, Ruben saw Colin coming towards him. He panicked, grabbing the duffel bag he had brought in with him and tried to run, but Colin Creevey was a trained Senior Field Researcher for the Department of Mysteries. With one well-placed *Impedimenta*, he had the muggle man on the floor again before he'd run more than a few feet. Panting, Ruben turned onto his back and looked up at the brunette in disbelief. "Who are you people?" he demanded.  
  
"Sorry, mate. That's confidential information. But I wouldn't worry about it too much." Colin pointed his wand at the man. "Obliviate!"  
  
The normal dazed look came over the man's face and Colin tugged him up off the floor, pulling the duffel bag out of his grasp and handing it to his co- worker, O'Day, who still had a slightly glazed look in his eyes, before turning back to Frump and slinging a friendly arm around his shoulders, gently propelling him towards the door.  
  
"Now, Ruben," he said pleasantly, "you came in here tonight to get a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie after a long day at work. You weren't here to meet anybody and you certainly didn't see any wizards dueling because, of course, there is no such thing as magic." Ruben nodded, muttering "No such...magic," and Colin gave him a friendly pat on the back, straightened his hat for him and zipped up his coat. "So now I guess you're on your way home. You have a good night, Dr. Frump. And don't you be stealing anything else from work and trying to sell it on the black market, okay? Sooner or later, you might get caught." Ruben nodded vaguely and wandered out the door. Colin watched him disappear into the humid darkness and turned back to his fellow Unspeakables.  
  
McGrew, one of his other companions, had grabbed the briefcase Nott had tried to give to Frump and flipped it open. He gave the contents a cursory glance and pulled out the small clay-like cube that Frump had become so disgruntled by. He studied it for a moment and then tapped it with his wand and muttered a quiet spell. The cube glowed purple for a few seconds, but faded quickly back to its original color.  
  
"It's a Pareses Square," he explained. "Magical bomb, probably set to go off when someone apparates within a certain distance. I just disarmed it so it wouldn't blow when we try and leave." He placed it carefully into a plastic baggy that he had pulled out of his pocket.  
  
"Probably a good idea, on the whole," Colin commented. Then he loudly clapped his hands together, trying to appear enthusiastic. "Well, we've got what we came for, right?" he asked them. O'Day, blinking at an oddly hesitant speed, checked the duffel bag he was carrying and nodded. Colin rubbed his hands together and grinned appreciatively. "Well, then. Let's clean up and get ready to go."  
  
The others had already gathered the three witnesses, the two old ladies and the waitress, and done a memory charm. So Colin helped a still-coughing Ginny to stand up tables and chairs and repair damaged walls and doors, taking pictures of everything before they fixed it for their records. When the five Unspeakables were finished, Ginny, who was feeling quite vengeful by now, went over and sharply kicked the man who'd tried to kill her. O'Day came up to her. "So, what are we going to do with this one, Ma'am?"  
  
Senior Field Researcher Weasley kneeled over the man, rubbing her throat absently and examined him. She stood up again after a moment and looked at O'Day. "This son of a bitch is going to Azkaban. Right alongside Nott."  
  
Colin looked over at her, startled, but she walked right past him. O'Day bent down and pulled back the Muggle's sleeve to his elbow, revealing an ugly tattoo consisting of a familiar skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. A Death Eater.  
  
Colin held back a sigh. It figured. The Dark Lord had been gone for years and his followers were still making nuisances of themselves just like they had always done. They were just trying to get deeper and deeper under the Ministry's skin. Like fucking porcupine quills, they were.  
  
Colin hated it when Death Eaters popped up in Unspeakable business. The Department of Mysteries' Field Researchers were only supposed to handle the science and observation of suspicious studies and situations, and were only ever supposed to reveal themselves when an emergency situation arose. Like when Nott had been about to cast Imperio on that muggle, for example.  
  
Dark Wizards, however, were (supposedly) strictly the Aurors' problem. But when the Aurors didn't catch them, it would occasionally happen that they would get involved DM investigations only to be put under arrest by the Unspeakables. Then, certain petty members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the DMLE, would start sending howlers. Like the Unspeakables had purposely stolen their prisoners to get the glory of catching them or something. As a rule, Field Researchers left the Department rivalry stuff to the politicians, even Senior FRs like Colin and Ginny, but it was still a bitch when DMLE employees sent you howlers personally. Especially so the ones that threw around names of important Ministry connections and how much they'd make the Unspeakables regret it if they arrested more Dark Wizards instead of leaving it to the DMLE. Occasionally an exceptionally irritable FR would send back a comment saying that if the Aurors would just catch them in the first place, than there would never have been any Unspeakable involvement. These letters usually went unanswered.  
  
Colin let his second sigh slip through. He cast Petrificus Totalus on the unconscious "muggle Death Eater" and went to make sure all five of them were ready to head out, their two prisoners in tow.  
  
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	2. Beta

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_Author's Notes: Once again, special thanks go out to Avie, my darling beta-reader, and also to my close friend "Rachelle," who's my... gamma-reader, I guess. Hugs and Kisses! Also: Thank you, FondyCheesehead, for telling me about Ginny's real name. I went to JK's official site to double check and, Lo and behold, her name really is Ginevra! Thanks so much!_

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. don't belong to me, but to JK Rowling, WB and the assorted publishing companies and such. I'm making no money off of this and no copyright infringement is intended. Enjoy!_

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DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Chapter One

_By Diocletian_

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_August 15, 2005:_

Monday morning in London was just as hot and humid as everyone had expected it to be. The people went about their daily lives, trying to pretend that they weren't feeling as miserable as they actually did due to the nearly inhumane heat wave they had been suffering through since the beginning of July. Mild traffic was coursing through the streets, people were walking along the sidewalks, albeit rather sluggishly, and vendors were selling their wares. It was just like any other morning in urban England during the broiling-hot summer. And at 215 Fairview Crescent, a pair of friends were getting ready to go out to lunch...

"For heaven's sake, Ginny! Stop bitching about it and just go see a medi-wizard!" Colin shouted as he stormed, half-naked, across the flat that he and Ginny had shared for the past four years. He was in search of his favourite purple t-shirt and was starting to panic because it seemed that, no matter where he looked, he would be sure he'd just seen a flash of purple only to discover that it was sweatpants or a sock or something light blue instead. Needless to say, he was becoming, very reasonably in his opinion, quite distraught.

Ginny, on the other hand, he noticed vengefully, had been ready to go for at least an hour, but instead of trying to help him find his shirt like a REAL friend would be doing, she was sitting in front of the bathroom mirror, pouting as she adjusted and readjusted the silk scarf she was wearing around her neck over her sundress. She, being her brothers' sister, had stubbornly refused to seek any medical attention after the mission the previous night and now dark purple bruises circled much of her neck like some sort of esoteric necklace. The blood splotches in her eyes had thankfully faded for the most part, but she was still planning to wear sunglasses and her bruises were standing out more than ever. She was trying to hide the garish marks behind the scarf, but it wasn't working because the scarf kept slipping.

"Why are you trying to keep it hidden, anyway?" Colin demanded, stalking into Ginny's bedroom across the hall, still in a desperate search for his shirt. "I thought you caved and admitted to your mother that you were more than a secretary, like, more than three years ago."

Ginny grimaced at herself in the bathroom mirror and then, in a childish fit of temper, threw the scarf down on the floor. She took a few deep, calming breaths before speaking. "I did, but I think she thinks I only do lab work or something. You know, safely, in a safe laboratory... that is safe."

Across the hall, Colin frowned. "Why in the name of Merlin would she think that?" he demanded. "You're a Senior FIELD Researcher. One of the few and the proud. If you haven't told her so, than your dad must have done it by now. How could she not know?"

Ginny glanced at him through the door out of the corner of her eye. She sighed and reached for her foundation, absently wondering if covering her bruises that way might just make them a little less obvious. "Maybe because I asked Dad not to tell her about that 'Field' part," she said. Sensing his disapproval, she stuck her tongue out at him through the open door. "Well, come on, I don't want Mum to worry! She's had more than enough trouble already from children who went around getting themselves involved in 'adventures.' Besides, you didn't tell your father you were gay until you were 17. What's the difference?"

Colin scowled and replied darkly. "I'd only known for sure that I even WAS gay for about a year, Gin, even if you say you'd suspected since we were 12. One year. You're 24. You've been an Unspeakable for five years now. FIVE! You have a Jacobian Schmidt Achievement award for your work as a FIELD RESEARCHER. You'd think she might want to know what you really got it for." He paused when he spotted a bit of purple inside her closet and pulled out his shirt. He held it up and grinned triumphantly before realizing exactly where he was. "And aside from that, what the hell is MY shirt doing in YOUR closet!?"

Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes. "I don't know. You keep telling me what a flaming homosexual you are, so I don't see what business you'd ever have in a girl's bedroom, but I certainly didn't put it there. I have no use for such a flagrantly PURPLE shirt. So I suppose the only conclusion that I can come to is that you've been lying to me all these years." Ginny smiled pleasantly at herself in the mirror as she carefully continued covering her bruises over with make up. "It's probably some psychologically disturbed ploy to get me into bed."

Colin stormed into the bathroom, still topless, carrying his wrinkled t-shirt. He was frowning as he reached for his toothbrush. "That's right, Gin," he said. "You've got me all figured out. Almost ten years of being best friends, confiding in each other, telling each other everything. You setting me up with as many boys as you could find so we could double date. Me assuring your father just how utterly gay I am so we could live together. Which was the single most embarrassing moment of my whole life, I might add," he mentioned when he saw the tiny smirk Ginny was trying to hide as she remembered the incident in question. After a second, he ignored her and went on. "The two of us spending entire summer afternoons sitting on the steps outside eating ice cream and rating all the guys who passed on a scale of one to ten. Me sneaking fellows up here some nights so that we could have hot, sweaty, passionate boy-sex. It's all just an involved plan on my behalf to sleep with you." He turned and grabbed Ginny in a mock embrace. "I want you, Ginevra Molly Weasley. Make me into a REAL man!"

Ginny gave him a quick, light kiss and patted his cheek. "Maybe later, baby."

Colin rolled his eyes and released her as she retied her rescued scarf overtop of her now-disguised neck. He went back to brushing his teeth. "When are Molly and Arthur expecting us, anyhow?" he asked through a mouthful of toothpaste.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Ginny checked herself in the mirror one last time before grabbing Colin's shirt to go and iron it for him, knowing that, left to his own, "manly" devices, he would wear it the way it was: wrinkled and horrible-looking. "Lunch is being served at 12:30," she answered after a moment of fruitless iron-hunting in her bedroom closet. "So they're probably expecting us at about eleven." Colin's eyes widened and he glanced at his watch, nearly spitting out his toothpaste when he did.

"Gin! It's already ten after eleven!"

Ginny shrugged nonchalantly and went into the kitchen to continue the search. "I said they were expecting us at eleven. I didn't say we'd be there by then. Besides, if they DO notice we're late, the blame lies solely upon you and your stupid shirt." Colin rolled his eyes and finished brushing his teeth.

Twenty minutes and several arguments regarding the degree of gay-ness needed for a person to wear a shirt like Colin's later, the two were finally ready and apparated to the Burrow where they'd been invited, as usual, for a monthly weekend lunch. Colin was pretty much used to Weasley family gatherings by now, but recent situations had him asking Ginny a couple of questions before they got to the door.

"So, what do I say to Hermione?" he questioned, running his fingers through his hair.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. What you would normally say, I guess. But don't mention her...er...'situation' to anybody other than Ron or me, okay? I don't think anyone else knows and I'm not sure whether I was supposed to tell you in the first place, though Hermione must've known when she told me that I was going to sooner or later."

Colin nodded thoughtfully. "What about Ron? What do I say to him?"

Ginny thought for a minute. "Something around the lines of: 'For the love of Pete, mate, the girl's pregnant, marry her, already!' would do fine," the redhead replied after a few moments of thought. Colin simply nodded again.

"Alright."

By now the two had arrived at the door. Ginny barely had time to knock before the door was pulled open, revealing two familiar, identical, heavily freckled faces. "Ginny!" her twin brothers exclaimed happily, yanking the young woman into a hug. George held his hand out to Colin briefly, shaking the younger man's hand warmly. "'Lo, Colin. How you been? Taking good care of our baby sister, I trust?"

Colin nodded and followed the redheaded siblings in through the door. "Of course."

As he stepped into the Burrow's living room, the staggering wave of noise washed over him. Aside from Ginny and Colin, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's current guests consisted of Bill, his wife Fleur, their two daughters, George, his wife Cora, their three children, Fred, Ron, and Hermione. The children, who varied in age from 5 and a half years to ten months old, were running and crawling around playing and, as could only be expected from the offspring of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes co-CEO George Weasley, screaming and laughing at the top of their lungs.

The twins were still happily pulling Ginny around, so Colin took a seat by himself on the couch. Fleur was sitting across from him in an old but comfy-looking armchair with one of her two pretty, blonde three-year-old twin daughters sitting in her lap. She gave Colin a brief smile as the brunette sat down.

"'Ow 'ave you been, Colin?" she asked. "Every zing going well at work?" Colin nodded. "Still, um, I mean, are you, um—still—" Fleur cleared her throat awkwardly and tried to phrase the question in a polite manner.

"Gay?" Colin supplied cheerfully. "Yeah."

"Ah. Well, zat's, um—well..." Fleur paused for a moment while she thought up a proper response and the brunette watched her in amusement. "Er... Good fer you, dear."

Colin nodded politely, biting back a grin and sarcastic comment. "Thanks."

Across the room, and after much struggling, Ginny had finally gotten out of Fred and George's grasp by feigning a need to visit the bathroom and the two had decided to play with the kids instead. She watched the bunch of them for a few moments and couldn't help but smile even as she shook her head at them. After a few seconds of careful deliberation, they and the kids all decided to head outside and play hide-and-seek and so Ginny went and sat down near the ottoman Hermione was perched on, deciding to entertain herself with a bit of updating.

Almost four months pregnant, Hermione was currently living on the outskirts of Brighton, sharing a cozy house in the suburbs with Ron, and she often told Ginny that she couldn't be happier with her life. She had cut her hair to her shoulders and the curls that had plagued her for most of her childhood were still there, though slightly tamer. She gave Ginny a grin as the redhead sat down. "Hey 'Mione. How's it going?" Ginny asked.

Hermione looked happy to see her, and her cheeks were flushed a rather rosy pink colour, one that had normally been hard for her to achieve, seeing as how she usually spent her days inside at the Ministry and the rest of her time cooped up at home reading, away from the light outside. But pregnancy seemed to agree with her and, even though she wasn't showing yet, she seemed to give off a kind of cheerful, exuberant aura these days. She grinned and replied enthusiastically to Ginny's question.

"I'm great, Gin," she said. "I'm healthy and Ron hasn't been smothering me too much. And the ICW Summit next week is finally all set! The embassy was cleaned up and all the portkeys have been arranged, we've got accommodations ready for all the delegates and all the extra security has been authorized, the meeting schedules are finished, thank heavens, and now the biggest thing most of us have to worry about is what we're going to wear." She paused and took a deep breath while the redhead quickly tried to process what she had said before she concluded. "I'm good."

Ginny rolled her eyes. She knew Hermione would be excited about work these days. One, because the older girl had always been weird. And two, Hermione was employed as one of the Ministry's British delegates for the International Confederation of Wizards, the ICW, who were ambassadors of a sort on the international political stage. A world summit was to take place the following week, right outside London, and delegates from all over the world were going to be present.

About a thousand people were supposed to be there, when local Heads, Deputies, Juniors, and Undersecretaries of Department and all the security personnel were added in. It was no Quidditch Cup, to be sure, but it was complicated just the same. Plans for the Summit had been taking place for at least three years now and some of them were still being completed. Portkeys to and from a hundred countries were hell to set up and organize, especially when they had to do it in a way that kept muggles from noticing, but the Department of International Magical Relations was doing a wonderful job. British delegates like Hermione had been trying to organize meeting schedules for months now and the DMLE was sending a large number of agents over for the week to act as extra security and surveillance.

But, since Ginny worked at the Ministry herself, she hadn't heard about much else in months. And so the subject, for her at least, could quickly become tiresome.

"That's great, Hermione, real mind-blower," she commented dully. "It's wonderful that everything's all set." The redheaded girl paused before asking about what she actually cared to listen to. "So tell me: Did that miserable bastard propose to you yet or not?"

Hermione shook her head, exasperated. It was a question she had obviously been asked before, and probably more than once. "You know, Gin," she replied, "Harry just asked me the exact same question when I was on the phone with him this morning. And do you know what I told him? The truth. No, Ron hasn't asked me yet, and I'm perfectly fine with that. And it's the same answer I'm going to give you."

Ginny sighed impatiently. "The two of you have lived together for two years now, Hermione. You've been dating since Hogwarts. It's not like you haven't waited long enough. You are already four months pregnant, for god's sake. If he doesn't ask you before you start really showing, he's never going to, and then you'll be stuck changing all those diapers by yourself. _Please_ make him marry you. We all want you as a sister. Besides, Mom will never let Ron hear the end of it if he doesn't marry the mother of his kids and then we'll all have to listen while the two of them snarl at each other every time we get together. Nobody wants to listen to that. And if we have to, we're all going to blame _you_ for it. Is that what you want? Huh?" Hermione just rolled her eyes again. Ginny threw up her hands in defeat.

"Fine. Don't listen to me. You go ahead and have as many of Ron's illegitimate children as you want. Hermione and the redheaded Grangers. See if that will fool anyone. A blind, deaf man with half a brain who's been living in a sack that was dropped in a muddy pit for ten years would be able to tell that you two belong together." She paused, then scowled and added, "Don't look at me like that."

The brunette, whose eyebrows were raised up in her bangs, obviously very highly amused, didn't look away at all, even when Ginny glared at her. Finally, Ginny gave up and stuck out her tongue. "I'm leaving."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh as the redheaded girl stalked away, sulking and unhappy, and into the kitchen.

* * *

_August 18, 2005_:

Feet thudding quickly and rhythmically on the heated pavement, Harry Potter ran through the crowded Kyoto sidewalk with great difficulty. It was hot, far too hot to be running, especially _INTO_ people, but nobody seemed to notice him until after he'd already bumped his way past them. The man he was pursuing was quite far ahead of him, but the good thing was that he wasn't moving any faster than Harry. There were just too many people out and the sun was beating down on them like a Quidditch Beater with an overly large and pointy club.

Sweat streamed down Harry's face, but he ignored it and started abandoning courtesy, so that anybody who was in his way was rudely pushed out of it. The fleeing Dark Wizard seemed to sense his closing proximity and, unable to apparate because Harry had grabbed his wand several minutes before, he tried running faster, but he hadn't had to go through the strenuous training Harry had gone through to become an Auror. The distance between the two began to shrink.

When he was finally close enough, Harry bent his knees and launched himself at the man. They both fell to the ground, hard, to the astonishment of the surrounding Japanese muggles. They rolled around for a moment or two, and the other man banged Harry's head savagely on the cement of the sidewalk, but even when dazed the raven-haired young man knew better than to let go. And so in the end Harry's more attuned, experienced skills overcame the other man and Harry had him pinned.

He pulled the Dark Wizard's hands behind his back and pulled a pair of what looked like handcuffs out of his jacket pocket. They weren't handcuffs, strictly speaking, because they were used by wizards and therefore worked with magic, but they did basically the same thing, only better. After making sure the man's hands were secure Harry pulled him to his feet. He pulled out his DMLE badge and flashed it quickly to the nearby muggles, fast enough so that none of them would actually be able to read it, before putting it back in his pocket, hoping it looked enough like a police badge to keep anyone from getting suspicious. He muttered, "Gomen. Gomen-nasi, minna-san," while searching for an alley he could portkey from. Now that the action was over, nobody paid enough attention to him to notice the fact that he was walking in the opposite direction of the nearest police station. It was too hot.

As soon as he was out of sight, Harry muttered "portus" under his breath while tapping the handcuffs with his wand and he and his prisoner went straight to the Japanese Ministry's DMLE headquarters. Harry ignored the looks he was being given by several of the workers who recognized him and took the prisoner to a holding cell.

Next, Harry knew, he was going to have to sign some forms and make arrangements for the man's transportation back to Britain. He strode up a flight of stairs and down a thin-walled corridor until he arrived at the end of the hall. There stood a door, which Harry knew, even though he couldn't actually understand it as it was written, said "Yasuo Kameko, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement".

Harry knocked on Kameko's door and opened it just a bit to peer in. The attractive Japanese woman motioned for him to take a seat as she bent to pick up her ringing telephone. "Yasuo," she answered briskly. "Moshi, moshi." She paused for a moment, listening to the other person talk. "Iie," she replied after a minute, shaking her head, "Iie." She muttered a string of instructions Harry could never hope to understand, waited another moment before saying "Hai," and hung up.

She turned her blazing, almond-coloured eyes to look at Harry, taking in his sweaty, slightly sunburned face, and grinned. "You'd better be here with good news, Potter," she said teasingly. "I'm anxious to finally be rid of you."

"I completely understand, Miss Yasuo. I'd like to get home myself. This rather sudden and unexpected delay came at an inconvenient time," he replied. Kameko shook her head, slightly exasperated, but a hint of the grin remained on her face.

"Harry, there is something seriously wrong with your country. I mean, you come here to catch that Rookwood person and, the day you're supposed to go home, another one of your convicts escapes and you're sent to catch that fellow, too. I mean," she sat down behind her desk and pulled out a sheaf of paper and a quill from one of the drawers, "You've just got too many Dark Wizards who like coming to Japan. Do they have secret societies who distribute pamphlets and get group rates or something?"

Watching as Kameko filled out the prisoner transfer forms, shaking her head at the absurdity of the world, Harry smiled. "I don't know about that, but I definitely understand how you're feeling."

She nodded, filled out another couple of lines and looked up at him questioningly. "You taking a portkey home?"

Harry shook his head. "Naw. I'll portkey Nott back, but I think I'll take the muggle plane. It'll give me a chance to get some sleep." Kameko nodded again and finished filling out her forms. She handed them to Harry, pointing to a couple of spots at the bottom of the first page.

"Sign here. Anyway, you have fun with your plane and everything," she replied, standing up. "And don't worry about Nott. Just floo your fellow Englishmen and let them know he's coming. We'll sedate him and send him on his way, and everyone will be happy again."

Harry nodded, leaning in to kiss his friend lightly on the cheek before starting off back down the hall. "Yeah. Well, I'll miss you, Kam. Be good and don't forget to write."

"I won't," Kameko promised, calling after him. "And hey! You take care of yourself, you hear me, Potter? If you don't, I'll know about it. I know your shrink!" Harry waved vaguely back at her in reply before he disappeared around the corner.

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Zacharias Smith was one of half a dozen Aurors who had been assigned to receive the escaped prisoner Theodore Nott when Harry Potter sent him back to the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement from the one in Japan via a chopstick-turned-portkey. Nott's head lolled around on his shoulders when he arrived, unconscious for the most part, and he stumbled unsteadily about the portkey station until two Aurors firmly took hold of both of his shoulders and held him still. He had apparently been well and fully sedated by the Japanese. So after searching him for anything that he might intend to use to help while he tried to make a second escape attempt, the Aurors took him straight to a holding cell to await the Ministry's decision on what to do with him.

Once Nott was securely behind bars again, with extra guards thrown in for good measure, Zacharias made his way to the Junior Deputy Head of the Department's office. He knocked lightly on the JD's thick oak door, but he didn't wait for an answer before opening it and stepping into the well-furnished room. The Junior Deputy himself was busy at that moment, arguing with someone whose face was currently glaring at him from inside the fireplace, but it didn't take Zacharias long to realize that it was not a business call.

"Honey, I've told you a thousand times," Ron said, his tone the long-suffering kind of a person who has already repeated what he is saying several times and has yet to yield results. "I can't go tonight. I'm working. Tell your Mum I send my best wishes and I hope she has a happy birthday, but there's really nothing I can do. My hands are tied."

Hermione Granger _'hmphed'_ from the fire, sending green sparks swirling around her face. "Don't you believe for one second that I'm swallowing that, Ronald Weasley. You just don't want to have dinner with my father. Honestly, what is it between you two?!"

Ron sighed exasperatedly. "Well, how would you like spending the whole evening with a man whose only opinion of you basically boils down to 'that evil, corruptive, horny little bastard who stole my sweet, innocent daughter away from me'?"

Zacharias, still at the door, cleared his throat to get Ron's attention. Ron glanced over his shoulder at him and his freckled nose gave a minute twinge of irritation. He returned to the fire for a moment. "Mione, look, I've got to go. I hope you have a good time. I'll see you when I get home." Hermione made one final noise of disapproval before her head vanished with a 'Pop!' Ron turned back to the blonde standing in his office door.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Smith?"

Zacharias pointed back over his shoulder in the general direction of the Department's holding cells. "We've just returned something you lost." He paused for a moment before adding, "Sir."

"Nott?" Ron asked anxiously. Zacharias nodded. The Junior Deputy let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. "Harry catch him?" He nodded again. "Good. Excellent work. It was sharp of you to suggest checking the muggle airport surveillance cameras, Smith. I'll commend you in the report." Zacharias frowned slightly.

"That's not going to get me promoted, is it?" Ron gave him a funny look.

"There's always the possibility, but...no, probably not. It's very doubtful, in any case."

"Good." Zacharias smirked. "Wouldn't want to end up like you, now, would I, SIR. I remember back when you were still a lowly Auror-in-Training with me and Potter and the others and then they commended YOU in some report and you started thinking you were too good to work with us anymore, so you went for some desk job instead. And then you got involved in that whole conspiracy thing and then they promoted you again. And now look at you. Stuck in some fancy corner office with a spectacular view you can't even enjoy because you're so busy working that you don't have time to go to your in-laws' place for dinner." Ron's face was screwed up with distaste, but Zacharias had to ask one last thing before he was thrown out. "Does your father-in-law really think that you're an 'evil, horny little bastard'?"

Ron glared at him. "Get out of my office, _MISTER_ Smith. You won't have to worry much about being promoted anytime soon, not with that attitude." He went back to his desk, which was covered in files and documents that all needed to be thoroughly read and signed. Zacharias gave him one last smug look before heading out the door. But just before he left, Ron muttered something just loud enough for him to hear. "And that old goat is NOT my father-in-law."

"Yet," Zacharias answered snidely back. "Granger is starting to get a bit wider round the middle these days, you know. Don't think her parents won't notice it. So, good luck there, whenever you do finally end up seeing her dad again." The blonde smirked then turned on his heel and headed back down the hall. If he had stayed, he would have had the immense satisfaction of seeing his boss stick his tongue out at him.

* * *

_Author's Note: To anybody who cares and didn't notice it in the AN at the beginning, according to JK Rowling herself, on her official site, Ginny's full name IS actually Ginevra Molly Weasley. I'm not making it up. There's also plenty of other interesting tidbits there, so visit the site as soon as you can! _www.jkrowling.com


	3. Gamma

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A/N: Sorry for the delay. Special thanks to Avie, Rachelle and Kim for reading this bit first and not telling me they hate it. PS: I don't own Harry Potter; JK Rowling and the WB(, etc) do. Neither do I own "Only the Good Die Young"--Billy Joel does. Now that that's covered... Toodles! 

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DRAMATIS PERSONAE**

**Chapter 2**

**By Diocletian**

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* * *

August 19, 2005_:

The following day, Ginny and Colin found themselves sitting inside the plush, comfortable dining room of _"Rafael's"_, an expensive Italian restaurant in uptown London. They were waiting to have dinner with Colin's younger brother, Dennis, who of course hadn't yet had the courtesy to show up. The two friends were chatting quietly at their table, sipping at their pre-meal spring waters.

"Tell me again how we managed to get reservations here with less than a week's notice without paying a fortune?" Colin asked, glancing over at the long line of famous­ and/or rich-looking patrons across the room that were all still waiting to be seated.

Ginny shrugged and continued glancing through her menu. "Because Dennis wanted to do something special tonight when he introduces us to his current flavor of the week. And besides, we know the owner, so we were able to bribe our way in."

Colin gave her a questioning look. "We know the owner of _'Rafael's'_?"

Ginny nodded, putting her menu down and taking another sip of water. "Neville's fiancée."

Colin paused for a moment, thinking over what he knew about Neville Longbottom's, the current Hogwarts Herbology teacher, love life. "You mean the current one, right? The one who's not Susan? What was her name, Hannah Abacus or something? The one we knew from the DA?"

"Hannah Abbott, yeah." Ginny glanced out the window impatiently. "Always had her hair up in pigtails. So tell me, Creevey: Where is that pathetic excuse you call a brother anyway?"

"Hey guys!" they heard suddenly from across the room. "Sorry we're late, traffic was a nightmare!"

Striding towards them past the unhappy-looking patrons who continued to wait in line, with his arm slung casually across the shoulders of a beautiful, buxom blonde, was 22-year-old Dennis Creevey. Dennis, a curse-breaker working with Gringotts, had wide greenish brown eyes which glowed at the sight of them, and light to medium brown hair with blonde highlights, like Colin. The drab, mousy colour had thankfully faded, not necessarily in a completely natural fashion, back in their school days. But this was where the resemblance ended. While Colin had a well-rounded face, Dennis' face was thinner, along with the rest of him. So, while Colin had a much better build, Dennis was taller. As a matter of fact, Colin and Ginny were almost exactly the same height, and as he often boasted, Dennis was almost half a foot above Colin's "continually-dwarfish build". It was to Colin's (who was already sensitive about his height) eternal annoyance that most people who met the brothers for the first time thought Dennis was the older of the two.

Standing beside Dennis, the young blonde woman smiled confidently at them, flashing a set of perfect, shimmering, white teeth. Her make up perfectly in place, her long, sleek blonde hair hanging attractively around her face in a manner Ginny was certain cost a king's ransom at her salon, she sat down in the seat Dennis had pulled out for her across the table from Ginny. She crossed her long, tan legs demurely, causing the hem of her already short skirt to rise. Blondie casually moved her left arm until it rested underneath her voluptuous chest, drawing even more attention to her barely-concealed breasts, and turned coyly to look at Dennis. It was a move Ginny immediately recognized, as any normal woman would, as one she herself had used on occasion when vying for undivided male attention.

"So, Dennis," Blondie said, speaking in a soft, sultry voice, "I'm finally getting to meet your brother and the ever-infamous Ginevra. Do introduce us."

Dennis grinned at her as her long, professionally made-up eyelashes fluttered prettily at him. The grin he gave her was not exactly the adoring, worshipping look most men would have given their girlfriend if they had been dating such a woman. No, the fellow would have to be grateful about being with her to give her that sort of a look, and Dennis wasn't grateful at all. He seemed to like her well enough, a fellow need only know her bra size to do that, but he was not in adulation of her.

And why should he be, Ginny had to ask herself wryly. He had dated many women in his time, most of them attractive, most of them slutty and each of them about as daft as a doorstop. He had somehow deluded himself into believing that he, for whatever reason, deserved all of this female attention. The only thing Ginny didn't understand was that most British witches had somehow fallen under the same illusion. Since the age of 15, when he finally managed to hit a growth spurt, he had had his pick of girls throwing themselves at him. Sure, Dennis was an attractive bloke, Ginny admitted, but he was so damn cocky, probably due to said attractiveness, that it was a wonder his head hadn't swelled to the size of a blimp ages ago and began circling Quidditch stadiums with advertisements painted on his cheeks.

But Dennis grinned his arrogant, ungrateful grin, patted Blondie's bare knee under the table and turned to Ginny and Colin. "Well guys, I'm glad I finally have the pleasure of introducing you. This is Chelsie McHarris, my dearest of darlings. Chelse, this is Gin and Col."

Chelsie smiled, flashing her perfect, pearly teeth again, and reached a delicate, carefully manicured hand across the table to shake that of Colin and then Ginny. The redhead noticed what looked like a tiny, black birthmark off to the side of her thumb, and thought cynically that it was probably the only blemish on her entire body. "How lovely to meet the two of you, at long last. Dennis has told me so much about you."

Ginny smiled back and picked up her menu once more, sarcasm flowing to her easily. "Really? He's told us next to nothing about you. It must be getting difficult for him to keep track."

Colin quickly stifled a chuckle, taking a drink from his water glass. Chelsie smiled and laughed politely, but it was obvious to Ginny she hadn't gotten it, which made it all the more entertaining. Dennis had merely raised an eyebrow and was giving her a look that clearly showed he was unimpressed. Ginny just smiled cheekily at him. After a moment of pointed silence, Chelsie cleared her throat and stood up.

"Do excuse me. I think I'll be going to the loo to powder my nose. Dennis, baby, order me a salad with low-fat dressing, would you?" Dennis nodded and Chelsie kissed him, deep and slow, before heading to the bathroom.

As soon as she was out of sight, Colin raised his eyebrows suggestively and Ginny started laughing. "What?" Dennis asked.

"What did you say she did for a living again?" Colin asked, the suggestive tone of his raised eyebrows seeping into his voice.

"She models," Dennis replied simply.

"What does she model? Cowboy boots and handcuffs?"

A hint of amusement crossed Dennis' features. He clearly had no interest in defending his lady-friend's honor, but he answered anyway. "No. She says she would never demean herself like that. She thinks it's vulgar for any woman to strip off all of her clothes and pretend to have sex just to pose for a few pictures in a degrading magazine." He paused and took a sip from his own bottle of spring water before continuing. "She finds lingerie modeling much more appropriate. At least they're trying to sell things that way."

Ginny and Colin burst into laughter as the waiter approached before Ginny spoke up. "So, tell us again, how long has it been since you and Miss Chesty McHarris started dating?"

"Two weeks." Dennis looked up and smiled politely at the waiter as he asked to take their orders. "Fettuccini Alfredo and a Caesar salad with low-fat Catalina dressing, please. With a bottle of port for the lot of us." The waiter nodded and turned to Ginny and Colin, who ordered cheese-stuffed ravioli and tortellini, respectively. The man nodded, assured them their meals would be ready shortly and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the three friends to continue making fun of their new favorite lingerie model.

* * *

Later that night, in a cozy suburban house near Brighton, Ron Weasley was staring, rather contently, out of his bedroom window. Hermione was asleep, spread out on his bare chest with her left arm flung across him. Her breath tickled him slightly, but her warm weight comforted him and made it easy to relax anyway. Her left hand rested on top of his collar bone and, straining slightly, he could see the glitter of the new diamond ring on her finger.

He smiled slightly to himself and closed his eyes. The relief he had felt earlier that day, when Hermione had accepted the ring, had been an almost palpable force. But now... Now she was his.

Earlier that day, not too long after Ginny and Colin had gone into _Rafael's_ across town, Ron and Hermione had been having lunch at a muggle café located conveniently close to the Ministry. They sat outside on the back verandah where several tables had been set up for the customers to eat "alfresco". It was still as hot as a kitchen in hell outside, but the café was packed, so they got stuck out back. The tables did come equipped with umbrellas, but they did very little to help with the heat, which was beginning to feel as heavy and suffocating as a wet blanket, and the lack of a breeze kept people from ever getting comfortable.

Ron fidgeted unhappily in his seat and loosened his tie for what seemed to be the thirtieth time in the past five minutes while he tried to eat his club sandwich. He glanced at Hermione, whose hair was slowly frizzing itself out of the bun she had pulled it ever-so-carefully back into that morning, eating her way through a poutine and sipping occasionally from a sweating plastic cup filled with iced tea. She had a light sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead, but she didn't appear to notice it.

Ron subtly reached into his pocket and fingered the small box within. He'd had it for more than three months now, the jewelry box in his pocket. Inside, nestled on a bed of purple velvet, lay a diamond ring. A very expensive one, at that. Ron had been planning to give it to Hermione sometime in the beginning of May, but the night he'd finally gotten up the courage to ask her, she had told him she was pregnant.

Pregnant. That was a word that had shocked him into a silence that had lasted for more than two days. He had even stayed home and tried to read through papers and file folders instead of going to work. It wasn't that he was upset, just embarrassingly surprised. He loved Hermione and wanted nothing more than to start a family with her, but he had hoped they could have been happily married for a couple of years first. Kids didn't stay ignorant to the facts of biology forever, after all, and they would eventually be able to do math, and Ron didn't much like the prospect of his children growing up to act from his example. It wasn't his choice any more of course, but it didn't change the way Ron felt about Hermione. He still wanted to marry her, more than anything, but he didn't want her to think he was only asking her because she was pregnant.

Taking a deep breath, determination furrowing his brow, the familiar saying, "Now or Never" filling his thoughts, Ron reached back into his pocket and pulled the velvet-lined box out and tightly held it in his fist. Glancing back at Hermione, who had taken no notice of his movement, he knew he could do it.

Pulling a hand anxiously through his hair to push it out of his eyes and clearing his throat, Ron couldn't help the slight flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach, despite how comfortable he usually felt around Hermione. He was only human, after all.

"Er...Hermione?"

She looked up absently, swallowing a fry. "Yes Ron?"

"Hermione, I've...Er," Ron had to pause and clear his throat again. "I've been meaning to talk to you about some stuff lately. You know that serious stuff we keep saying we have to talk about, but never do? Well, I want to talk about it." Hermione nodded in agreement, biting another fry in half and Ron continued. "It's been three months now since we found out you were pregnant and the baby's going to be born in less than five months. You and I don't have any really strong, solid commitment to each other at the moment and, I mean, we're going to be parents, right? We should be...I mean, we should HAVE, um..." Ron stopped and again ran a hand through his bright crimson hair. "I'm sorry, Mione, I'm REALLY bad at this kind of thing."

Hermione gave him a questioning look and he sighed. He held out his hand, offering her the small jewelry box that sat upon it. She took it, staring at Ron intently. He gave her a small smile. "Go on. Open it. I think you'll get the idea."

Pulling her eyes away from him, Hermione slowly opened the box he had given her, revealing the diamond ring within. Gasping, her hand flew to her mouth and her amazed and bewildered brown eyes traveled back up to meet Ron's hopeful blue ones.

"What...what does this mean?" She asked breathlessly. "Does it mean what I think it means?"

This time, Ron couldn't hold back a grin. "I'm willing to bet it does." And suddenly the look on his face became serious and he stood from his horrendously uncomfortable chair and got down on one knee beside Hermione. This move began to draw stares from surrounding patrons, but Ron ignored them.

"Listen Hermione," he began quietly. "I love you. I've loved you for years. I can't think of anything that could make me happier than if you agreed to marry me. Except maybe knowing that we're going to have a baby in a few months and knowing that we're going to be able to share the love we have for each other with someone else." He took a deep breath as Hermione's eyes began to sparkle with unshed tears. "Hermione Granger, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Hermione burst into tears right there on the verandah, while the other surrounding patrons smiled to themselves and whispered about how sweet it was. Hermione didn't even notice them as she leapt from her chair, grabbed hold of Ron's shoulders, pulled him up until he was standing once more and crushed her lips against his. Ron's mouth formed a smile beneath hers and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, just as her arms wound themselves around his neck.

Pulling away after what seemed like an eternity, Hermione hugged him and laughed even as the tears streamed down her cheeks. "Oh, Ron. Of course I'll marry you!"

A grin so wide it hurt his cheeks broke across Ron's face. He took Hermione up in his arms once more and spun her around, ignoring her screeches of protest. When he finally put her down, she hit him playfully on the shoulder and kissed him again. The grin didn't leave his face and he reached around her to pluck the ring out of its box and placed it on her ring finger. She wrapped her right arm around Ron's waist and held her left hand out in front of her to gaze at the beautiful diamond. She wiggled her fingers to watch it sparkle and another soft smile fell onto her lips.

"Mrs. Hermione Weasley," she murmured to herself dreamily. Ron made a face, his nose wrinkling in mild disgust, and kissed the top of her head.

"Maybe you should keep your own last name," he suggested helpfully.

* * *

_August 20, 2005_:

Ginny sat impatiently behind the wheel of she and Colin's convertible, a lovely new BMW which was currently outside Heathrow International Airport, waiting for Harry Potter to move his ass and come outside. The top of the car was down because even in the sweltering heat, the breeze when the car was moving beat the A/C any day of the week. But at the moment the car was parked, near the entrance Harry had indicated, and Ginny was sweating profusely in the afternoon sun.

Her red hair was something that had never been very handy in the summer months. She couldn't stay out in the sun for any length of time at all without a wide-brimmed hat and a thick layer of 50 sunblock covering every visible inch of her body or she would burn horribly. Currently she had neither.

'Next time,' she thought to herself irritably as she fanned herself with an old magazine she'd found in the backseat, 'next time, Hermione or Ron can pick him up. This has got to be the hottest day of the bloody year. Let Ron miss his meetings and lose his fucking job, I'm not sitting out here again next time.'

After another five minutes of impatient waiting, Ginny was about to drive away and let Harry catch a damn taxicab home when she heard her name being called out from across the parking lot. She pulled off her sunglasses and glanced up to see 25-year-old Harry Potter emerge from the sliding electronic sensor exit, his suitcase rolling along behind him and a duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. He waved enthusiastically and headed towards the cherry-red convertible while Ginny reached over into the glove compartment and hit the button to pop open the trunk. Harry pulled it open the rest of the way and tossed his bags in before slamming it shut and jumping up to the front left seat to sit beside Ginny.

They gave each other a friendly grin and a quick peck on the cheek. "How's your summer been, Gin?" Harry asked as he pulled on his seatbelt.

"Hot," she replied, pulling the car into gear. "And hectic. It's a hell of a heat wave we're going through. How was your flight?"

Harry shrugged as she drove out of the parking lot, slipping on his own pair of sunglasses, considerably more expensive than Ginny's. "Just the same as my last trip. And the one before that. And all the ones before that. It's always the same. They run, I catch them. But I suppose that must be the reason they keep sending me off to all the different, faraway corners of the earth, huh?" Ginny grinned and nodded in agreement as she turned onto the main road.

Harry leaned over and turned up the volume on the radio, which was playing an old Billy Joel song and started singing along, flashing a grin at his redheaded companion.

___Send up a signal, I'll throw you the line_

_The stained-glass curtain you're hiding behind_

_Never lets in the sun..._

_Only the good die young!"_

Ginny grinned back at him, humming along. She had always loved that song. But, glancing over at Harry occasionally, she took the opportunity to study him. He had changed since she'd seen him last in late June, but not tremendously so. He had grown his black hair out long again, like he had the summer before, and had it pulled back out of his face with a small, thin elastic. He didn't appear to have shaved for a couple of days at least and he had been tanned a deep golden bronze that almost made Ginny want to cry in envy. If she ever stayed outside for as long as it took to get a tan like that, she would be as red as a cooked lobster. Harry was also wearing his contact lenses, as he usually did since graduating from Hogwarts, his golden earring glittering in the sun from his right earlobe, and his emerald eyes shone with the energy his most recent mission had filled him with.

Ginny knew, though, that he would probably be spending that night "celebrating" his return home in some seedy London pub or another. He'd fill himself up with booze to the point that would force him to spend that early morning with his head bent over a toilet and then, despite the hangover he'd suffer, he'd do it again the next time he came back from a mission. It was a habit he'd first developed in the middle of his sixth year of Hogwarts. Ginny didn't approve of it, but there wasn't a lot she could do to prevent it. It was just Harry's way.

And it wasn't so bad. He wasn't an alcoholic, by any means. He just went out and got drunk once in a while because it was something to do and he would be feeling reckless and indifferent. He had felt that way a lot after Sirius died. It had probably been brought about by the combination of Harry's intense and manic depression and the sudden realization that, despite the number of people who cared about him to some degree or another, there wasn't a single person left in the word whose authority Harry respected.

Sirius had been the closest thing to a father Harry could ever remember having and then he had been taken away from him. The only living person whose approval he sought was dead and he no longer held the extent of respect he had had for Dumbledore. So what had been left to care about? What was the worst the teachers could do to him: send nasty letters about him to the Dursleys? He was no longer their responsibility, having been thrown out of Privet Drive the minute he had turned seventeen. So then what? Take points away from Griffyndor? Give him detention? He didn't care. Within a matter of years, he was either going to have killed or been killed and he didn't see how learning to properly harvest Toe Leaves in Herbology was going to help him live.

The turning point had probably been the morning in early November in his seventh year when he'd come to Transfiguration completely pissed. It was a common occurrence by then for Harry to go to class with hangovers so awful that he often wished Voldemort would just get it over with and come to finish him off already, but to see him arrive in class still drunk wasn't good. He hadn't been completely out of it, dancing and singing on his desk or something else quite so stupid, but it had been obvious enough and McGonagall had hauled him out of class.

She hadn't yelled or lectured. She had merely taken him to her office and placed a box full of old newspapers in his lap and said to stay there until she came back for him after classes were adjourned, because she wasn't going to subject any more of Harry's teachers to his drunken behavior. After a while of sitting there bored, Harry had gotten curious and began looking through the box.

The newspapers were mostly from back in the seventies and some from the early eighties, issues of the Daily Prophet from back when Voldemort had originally been in power. There were reports of attacks on muggles, mysterious kidnappings, Death Eaters being caught, but disappearing before they could be taken to Azkaban. And obituaries. There were a lot of those.

A house-elf arrived with a plate of sandwiches and a pot of coffee around lunchtime and Harry had hardly noticed, so engrossed in the old articles as he was.

McGonagall had returned at four o'clock that afternoon. She sat down in the desk in front of him quietly and, after a moment, had spoken eight words that had changed Harry's life. "Do you really want that to happen again?"

Harry had never again swallowed a mouthful of alcohol on a school night. On the occasional weekend and over the Christmas break, maybe, but that was only to be expected. The boy had, after all, essentially lost everything. But he never did it when it mattered and after Easter that year he swore he never would again until after Voldemort had been defeated.

He had been true to his word. Even now, years later, after the deaths of a lot of people, some he'd known and some he hadn't, he was still much more conservative than he'd ever been back then. Ginny just thought it was too bad he had to visit a therapist to stay that way.

Still, it's always nice to have him back, Ginny thought to herself as the raven-haired man beside her beat on the dashboard in tune with the song's drums, continuing to sing along.

_"You got a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation_

_You got a brand new soul_

_And a cross of gold_

_But Virginia they didn't give you quite enough information."_

Harry winked at her suggestively, causing Ginny to roll her eyes and laugh at him as she sang along with him.

_"You didn't count on me_

_When you were counting on your rosary."_

Ginny and Harry grinned at each other again and Harry slung an arm playfully across Ginny's shoulders. She glanced down at his arm and looked back up at him, waggling her eyebrows at him suggestively. This caused him to laugh and kiss her lightly on the forehead before allowing her to focus her attention back on the road while he enthusiastically mouthed the last few lines of the song to himself.

Ginny glanced over at him one last time and smiled gently. "Missed you, Harry."

* * *

A/N: Next part'll be up in a bit. Have a great August all. And, by the way, just to clear things up, I realize Ginny's name's not Virginia but that doesn't mean she can't like the song. :P


	4. Delta

_Author's notes: Dedicated, as usual, to Avie, Rachelle and dearest Kim, for oh-so-subtly convincing me to update quicker. Characters you recognize belong to Rowling and Co, while any you don't are mine (along with the plot and all of the spelling/grammar mistakes.)_

**

* * *

**

**DRAMATIS PERSONAE**

**Chapter 3**

**By Diocletian**

* * *

When Ron and Hermione arrived at the Burrow that afternoon to help set up for Harry's Welcome Home/Birthday party (which was really just an excuse on Molly's behalf to get as many of her brood together again as she could), she could tell there was something going on. The both of them seemed different. As though they were...glowing. Sort of. That was probably the wrong word to use in the early afternoon of yet another sweltering, blindingly sunny day. But they just seemed so enthusiastically _happy_ about something. It wasn't until Molly asked Hermione to pass her the icing sugar for the birthday cake that she noticed it. 

"What's that on your finger, dear?"

Hermione froze. "Finger?"

Realization began to dawn on Molly as she caught another glimpse of the sparkling diamond on the brunette's ring finger and an ecstatic grin began to spread over her face. "Heavens above! Hermione, did Ron ask you to—?"

"Shh!" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes widening and a horrified look passing across her features. "Shh, sshhh! We're going to wait until everyone gets here! Not another word or you might spoil the surprise!"

Molly nodded quickly, but the smile remained in place. "Oh, yes, of course, dear! I wouldn't want to ruin it! Anything to have another couple of grandchildren toddling about in a few years!"

A nervous smile fell onto Hermione's lips. "Er...yeah! Right! Who doesn't love kids?" She managed to choke out a shrill chuckle before quickly adding, "Let me take that potato salad into the dining room for you!" As soon as Molly's back was turned Hermione calm face fell faster than a melting snowball in hell. She literally fled into the next room. Molly continued to prepare the cake, ignoring Hermione's weird behavior.

In the living room, still as cluttered and homey as it had ever been, assorted Weasleys of almost all shapes and sizes were present. Hermione struggled past several of them to set the glass bowl full of Molly's delicious potato salad down on the table, having to lift it up over her head twice to keep several of the youngest members if the Weasley clan from knocking it out of her hands before she could even put it down. She set it safely down on the table, breathing a sigh of relief, and walked over to where Ron was lounging lazily on the sofa, kissed him lightly on the lips.

"You okay?" he asked, taking note of her anxious fidgeting.

Glancing surreptitiously around the room to make sure no one was listening, Hermione leaned in towards him to whisper. "She knows."

Ron wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down to sit in his lap. "Who knows what, love?"

"Your mother!" she hissed. "She knows about... well, you know..." The brunette gestured vaguely at her new engagement ring. Ron only smiled.

"Well, you didn't REALLY expect to be able to keep it a secret from her, did you?" he asked pleasantly. "The woman's had sev—six adult children." He coughed, but made no other sign acknowledging his slip. "She probably knew something was up with us the second we knocked on the door," he added. "The ever-infamous Woman's Intuition, right?" Hermione sighed, nodding, and pouted.

"I _was_ rather looking forward to surprising everyone, though."

Ron grinned and planted a kiss in Hermione's hair. "Don't worry about that. I'm pretty sure that if the whole engaged thing doesn't do it, the pregnant thing will."

Hermione frowned slightly, but didn't have time to respond before Bill and Fleur's twin daughters ran into the room yelling that Uncle Harry' had arrived. Hermione removed herself reluctantly from Ron's lap and went to the window. Sure enough, a shiny red BMW convertible was making its way down the drive. She turned back to face the assorted Weasleys and helped usher everyone around to get ready as Ginny parked her car and she and Harry came into the house.

* * *

Ginny had warned Harry ahead of time that they were on their way to his "surprise" party. He hadn't been surprised at all when she told him. Molly was far too predictable. But he was excited to be able to see most, if not all of the Weasleys again and thanked Molly and Arthur vehemently for throwing him a party. Though he didn't regret going away for the summer, it was always nice to be surrounded by familiar faces once more, especially when they were the faces of his "adopted" family. 

George's daughter and oldest son, along with the Delacour-Weasley twins, hung off of him as Harry made his way around the Burrow, hugging and talking and shaking hands. Harry couldn't stop the grin on his face when he tried to sit down on the sofa to talk to Ron. The kids all let go, allowing him to sit without worrying whether he was going to squish one of them, before all four of them promptly climbed onto the sofa with him and all tried to fit in his lap.

Across the room, Ginny saw their antics and chuckled to herself, bouncing George's younger son, ten-month-old Matthew, on her knee. She turned back to her conversation with Mattie's mother, Cora, but her mind strayed back to Harry. The kids all loved him and he really was great with them. "Uncle Harry" was always there for birthday parties and Christmas and he always brought the best gifts. He'd listen patiently when they were upset and play with them when they weren't. Harry loved each of them as if they really were his nieces and nephews. To them, he wasn't the "Boy-Who-Lived", or even the famous Auror. He was just Uncle Harry and he loved it.

Focusing her attention back to her conversation with Cora, Ginny heard her ask about what she was up to at work these days. Smiling, Ginny shook her head. "Nuh uh. You know better than that, dearest sister-in-law. Unspeakable business is just that—unspeakable. Sorry. Good try, though."

Cora snapped her fingers in mock disappointment. "Drat! Foiled again! And I really thought it would work this time."

Ginny chuckled and handed Mattie back to her before heading towards the kitchen to see if there was anything else she could do to help her mum. Before she got there, however, she felt a hand grab her elbow. She spun around and came face to face with Harry, who had left the children to swarm around Ron instead so that he could come and talk to her. He grinned and gave her a hug.

"This is a great party, Gin," he said. "Thanks for bringing me."

Ginny shrugged nonchalantly. "It was nothing," she replied, completely pushing aside the memory of just how pissed off she had been just an hour or so before when she had been waiting in the suffocating heat outside of the airport. "If it hadn't been me, someone else would have brought you."

Harry nodded sagely. "I know. But nobody else here has as cool a car as you do."

Ginny laughed and Harry smiled. Even back when they were still attending Hogwarts, he had always loved the sound of Ginny's laughter. Like ringing bells. She shook her head in amusement. "It's not really my car," she admitted. "The registration's under Colin's name. He drives a lot more than I do, so he paid more of the payments than I did. Therefore, it's legally his car."

"Oh, well. It's still nice." Harry shrugged. Then he paused for a second, looking around. "Where is everyone's favourite raging Madonna fan, anyway?"

"He's out with his boyfriend," Ginny answered easily. "Douglas Kibble. You remember Dougie, don't you? Well, today's his ten-year Hogwarts reunion and he dragged Colin along as his guest."

Harry thought for a moment before he could recall the skinny 28-year-old blonde who was dating Colin. "Dougie? Yeah, I remember Dougie. How long have he and Colin been going out? Must be going on 8 months now, at least. It sounds pretty serious."

"9 and a half months, actually. And it's very serious." Ginny pouted. "I'm starting to fear for my roommate. If he moves out, I need to go through the trouble of finding a new one and I don't want to."

Harry patted her back in a comforting manner. "I'm sure it'll be fine. If worse comes to worst, you can always move in with me! I'm only there half the time anyway, so it would be nice and peaceful most of the time."

Glancing at him skeptically for a moment, Ginny gave in and shrugged. "If worse comes to worst, I'll think about it." Harry gave her a grin and a pat on the back and was about to reply when the sound of a fork hitting the side of a glass rang through the room. Ginny and Harry both turned their heads to face Ron, who was holding the aforementioned glass in his left hand.

Seeing Molly come out of the kitchen at the sound of the ringing glass, Ron grinned nervously at his family. "Well, seeing as I now have all of your attention," he started, glancing at his fiancée, "Hermione and I have a couple of announcements to make." He took a deep breath as his ears started turning pink, and he bit his lip slightly before continuing. "The two of us have FINALLY decided to get married."

Through the catcalls and echoes of congratulations and a couple of "about time's" that sounded around the room, Ron banged on the glass with his fork again. It took a few moments, but he managed to get everyone's attention once more. "If you can all control your wild selves for just a second, there is one more thing." Trying to ignore the expectant looks on everyone's faces, Ron cleared his throat noisily. Ginny and Harry, who were the only ones who already knew what his next announcement was going to be, grinned at each other and watched as his ears grew steadily redder and Hermione's eyes drifted down to intently study her shoes.

"While, uh, Hermione and I are very excited about becoming a family, we, uh...I mean, we're very excited to...Well—uh—we're planning on..." Ron coughed nervously and ran a hand through his hair, muttering. "Oh, screw it," he said at last. "We're pregnant and we're going to have a baby."

There was a shocked silence for about five seconds when nobody could speak. Indeed, Molly looked as though she would never speak again. Ginny had to bite her lip to stifle an onslaught of giggles. After a moment, Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, uh, congratulations, son." Sensing the parental approval of the situation, all of a sudden everyone burst into the same congratulations and good wishes that they had before. The noise seemed to jerk Molly out of her surprised stupor and she got up slowly and walked over to Ron.

Her youngest son froze and looked at her warily as she stood before him. She looked straight back. Then she proceeded to cuff him across the head, dissolving into his arms in tears a second later. She wrapped her arms around him and he patted her back awkwardly with one hand while rubbing the back of his sore head with the other as she sobbed about her baby boy getting ready to have a baby of his own. After a while, Arthur came over and pried her away from Ron, speaking to her soothingly.

Ron sank down into his seat, feeling very uncomfortable while his brothers all smothered grins. Ginny and Harry's oh-so-subtle giggling wasn't helping matters either.

Hermione put her arm around his back in a comforting manner while the others started to chat again, glancing discreetly between Ron and Molly, whom Arthur was trying to talk to and who was still dabbing her eyes. Ron sighed. "What I wouldn't do for some sort of a distraction right now..."

And it was at that moment that Zacharias Smith appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the living room floor.

* * *

Zacharias had been at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement headquarters just moments before, and had been ordered quite harshly to fetch Ron. And so, reluctantly, he apparated into the middle of what appeared to be a Weasley family reunion. He glanced around at the staring eyes and red hair for a moment, feeling just a bit awkward at the strange silence that had greeted his entrance, but quickly got over it. He turned to face Ron and stood at attention, as much as he hated having to perform the respectful gesture in front of that flock of Weasleys, most of whom he knew and did not like. 

"Sir," he greeted, practically feeling the bat strike at his pride as he did. "Mr. Richards sent me to come and get you. He needs you in at the Department immediately."

Brow furrowed, Ron gave an impatient sigh. "What do they need me for now? I just left!"

Zacharias just shrugged. "Hell if I know. I'm just doing what Hank told me to." He paused for a moment before quietly adding, "Don't tell him I called him by his first name."

"Whatever." In a bit of a huff, Ron went to the door to get his work robes, which he had shed on the way in, muttering under his breath all the way. While he was gone, Zacharias turned again to casually study the other people present. Most of them had decided by now that the best way to handle his presence in their midst was to ignore it and were once again speaking amongst themselves.

But two faces stuck out from the others and he grimaced to himself in recognition. Ginny the littlest Weasley, looking at him occasionally from the corner of her eye, a look of intense dislike written all over her face, was talking to the ever-infamous Harry Potter. Studying the other man from head to toe, Zacharias snorted.

"Honestly, Harry," he threw out suddenly. "You'd think with all that hazard pay you're earning, you could afford a shave and a decent haircut. I mean, you look like something the cat dragged in."

Harry rubbed his week-old beard ruefully and gave Ginny a wink. "Really?" he answered playfully. "Well, what can I say? I aim to please and the ladies love it. It's all good."

Zacharias snorted again and rolled his eyes, but he didn't reply. Instead he turned to the young woman standing next to Harry and smirked. "And if it isn't Ginevra the Unspeakable, enjoying a day off. How's your neck, Miss Weasley?"

Zacharias saw Ginny's nose give the same twinge of irritation that Ron's did whenever he spoke to him. Harry looked at her curiously and Zacharias could see Ginny's twin brothers glance up at her after hearing his question. "Fine," she replied shortly. "Your concern is duly noted, MISTER Smith."

From the looks on her brothers' faces, Zacharias could see that Ginny hadn't told them about her little..."incident" at the Genesis Café. He only knew because, as an official at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the criminals the Unspeakables had apprehended six days ago had been placed into he and his fellow Aurors' custody. They had been warned that Theodore Nott and the other one, the supposed muggle with the Dark Mark, who, according to his driver's license, was a man by the name of Scott Spiegel, had caused a number of injuries to their arresting officers and were to be carefully guarded. It hadn't taken many questions to find out who had caught them and, coincidentally, who had been hurt.

Zacharias had sneered at the time. He had wondered what kind of incompetent would mistake a dark wizard for muggle and how it could possibly take three fully-qualified Unspeakables to take down Nott. 'The Department of Mysteries must have even lower standards for their Field Officers than we thought,' the Aurors had joked. But that had been before Nott had stolen a wand from one of his guards, taken him out, along with three others, and run wild halfway around the world before Harry (who, by pure dumb luck, had just finished a mission in Japan when Nott arrived there) had managed to catch him. The son of a bitch was persistent, though. Zacharias had to give him that. But there hadn't been any Unspeakable jokes at the DMLE since.

"What's he talking about, Gin?" Fred finally asked. "What's wrong with your neck?"

She could only roll her eyes scathingly as Fred, George and Harry all stared at her expectantly. It reminded her of the time Ron had ratted that Draco Malfoy had asked her to go to Hogsmeade with him in her fifth year. The Dream Team had all stared at her the exact same way these guys were now, wanting to know if she'd said no or not. In reality, feeling that she could use the time alone with him to subtly pry Dark Side information out of him, she had told Draco she'd be glad to go to Hogsmeade with him as long as he watched where he put his hands. But she hadn't been about to tell any of her brothers (not to mention Harry) that, so she'd bull-shitted her way through it. It had worked exceedingly well then, so she decided to try again.

"Come on, guys," she said. "It was nothing. Just a bump-and-scratch thing a couple of days ago. I mean," she chuckled forcefully, "if it were serious, I would have mentioned it by now, right?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully, but Fred and George looked at her suspiciously. They knew her really well, after all. "Well, if it was so little," George spoke up, "how come THAT wart knows so much about it?" He pointed over at Zacharias, who had the decency to look mildly insulted at being referred to as a wart. Ginny just shrugged nonchalantly.

"You know how it is. We both work at the Ministry. Everybody knows about everybody there. So, guys," she smiled at her brothers and Harry gently, serenely. "Don't worry about me, okay? I'm fine." She then turned to face Zacharias. "And Smith," she muttered through clenched teeth. "Learn to keep your effing trap shut!"

Before anyone had the opportunity to respond to Ginny's last remark, Ron came back into the room, shrugging his work robes on and tightening his tie. He stooped in front of a small mirror on the wall, one that had actually been placed there as more of a decoration than anything else, and briefly combed through his red hair with his fingers. After a final glance, Ron deemed himself ready for a public appearance and went to grab his wand off of the coffee table while Fred and George sniggered at him.

"You better be careful with all that primping, Ronnie," George cackled.

"Yeah," Fred continued. "People will start thinking you're a politician or something."

Ron just shook his head. "Remember what my title is, guys?" he asked. "It's 'Junior Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.' Notice the word 'Head' is included in that. Everybody in the Ministry with that word in their title, no matter who they are or what Department they work for, is a politician."

This only served to make the twins laugh harder and a couple of others who had been listening joined in. Ron looked affronted. "Hey, laugh now," he said. "But Minister for Magic Wagman Shoal had my job years and years ago. And former-Minister Amelia Bones had it before him. So, hey, I'd like see you laughing when I'm running for office!"

Fred and George were now cackling so hard that they were almost falling out of their seats. "Yeah," George spoke up. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, Minister for Magic! We'd better be careful." He nudged Fred with his elbow. "Next thing you know, we'll have another Percy on our—"

George froze as he realized what he was saying. Nobody was laughing now. Harry stared intently at his toes, Ginny anxiously twisted her watch around her wrist, and Ron's ears began turning red in quiet, controlled anger. The tension was an almost palpable force. Ron gritted his teeth and forced out a single sentence. "I am not like Percy."

The red-hot fury in his voice was obvious and a regretful George nodded apologetically. "I know, mate. I'm sorry." He glanced over at Molly and Arthur to make they hadn't heard the mention of their third son. "I wouldn't believe for an instant you could be like that back-stabbing, Death-Eating traitor."

Ron just stood there watching George impassively for a few moments, but then he nodded stiffly and turned to go kiss Hermione good-bye and thank his parents for a lovely afternoon. Gripping his wand a little more forcefully than he had to, he disapparated. Zacharias bowed to Harry, his fellow Auror, and kissed Ginny's hand gallantly before disapparating himself, winking at her spitefully.

Ginny scowled. "Well, that little bastard's just put a damper on my entire day," she said irritably to Harry. "I'm going home before something else happens."

* * *

Ron and Zacharias apparated to the Atrium and quickly proceeded to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and then straight to Mr. Hank Richards' office. Richards was the Head of the DMLE and what he lacked in height (being only just taller than Colin Creevey, who in turn was only a bit above the pixie-like Ginny), he more than made up for in volume. He was a good Head of Department, but he enjoyed yelling at people, especially Aurors, and Ron in particular. In all honesty, Ron had never actually worked as an Auror, having quit training in the middle of the second year in preference of taking an office job that had been offered to him and which paid REAL money. But the very fact that he had risen through the ranks so quickly to reach the level he was on today seemed to annoy Richards even more. 

But as they entered his office that day, Richards just didn't look like he was in the mood to yell. He was pacing back and forth across the expensive wine-colored carpet, chewing on the end of an unlit cigar that was sticking out of his mouth at a slightly precarious angle. Seeing Ron and Zacharias standing at the door, he waved at them to come in and walked over to his desk. He pulled two file folders out of his desk and handed one to each of them.

"Smith, as long as you're here, make yourself useful," he ordered. "Take that file over to Darcie Bethel right away. It's urgent. Tell her that her presence is requested as soon as it is humanly possibly. Then get back to work." Zacharias scowled fiercely, but stood up and left, muttering non-too-subtly about how 'I'm an Auror, for Merlin's sake, not a bloody delivery boy,' as he went.

Richards turned to face Ron. "Weasley," he continued, "follow me." Ron nodded without saying anything and the older man proceeded out the office door and down the corridor. "It would probably be helpful," Richards added as Ron walked obediently behind him, "if you read at least part of that file I gave you. Glance through it as much as you can, I have to talk to Dr. Stein before we can go in."

Slightly confused, but still remaining silent, Ron flicked through the file as he wondered what was going on. Dr. Stein was the Department's forensic evidence consultant, but Ron didn't know why he'd be there for this. According to the file he was reading, they were going to see a prisoner named Scott Spiegel, a 39-year-old man who worked as a muggle stock broker. He had apparently attacked some Unspeakables who were working on a field research-and-retrieve mission six days ago. Skimming through the stats, a few things caught his eye.

_'Crime(s): Attempted murder, Association with a Dark Wizard. _

_Date of Arrest: Sunday, August 14, 2005. _

_Location of Arrest: Genesis Café, Wimbledon. _

_Arresting Officers: (Department of Mysteries)_

_Creevey, Colin (SFR); _

_Delfink, Devlin (FR); _

_McGrew, Timothy (FR); _

_O'Day, Cary (FR); _

_Weasley, Ginevra (SFR).'_

'Ginny,' he thought to himself, frowning. 'Huh. Wonder what she and her lot were researching that had to do with this guy. Unspeakable field workers are only supposed to be sent out for research and observation purposes.'

By now he and Richards had arrived outside one of the department's examination rooms and Ron took a seat to read some more of the file and to wait for Darcie Bethel, who was the Senior Deputy Head of the DMLE, while Richards went in the room to talk to Dr. Stein. Skimming through the rest, Ron plucked out a picture from the back of the folder and studied it briefly, frowning. It was of Spiegel's left forearm and there, marring the rather pale skin, was the same ugly tattoo the Unspeakables had noticed six days ago after the man had tried to strangle Ginny. The same skull and snake tattoo Voldemort had claimed as his own in years past.

Or so it appeared. Squinting slightly, Ron examined it more closely. There was something...off. Something different. It took a minute for him to realize that the snake, protruding from the mouth like some horrible travesty of a tongue, was pointing the wrong way. Most people probably wouldn't catch this fact because the only place most people had ever seen the Dark Mark had been when it was hanging in the air above the location of a fresh victim. And the direction the snake was pointing would then depend on your location in regards to the "danger zone". But Ron, who had, after all, been an Auror-in-Training for a year and a half, had seen the Mark burned into the forearms of several Death Eaters, so after careful inspection, he recognized Spiegel's for what it was. A fake.

"But why would anyone in their right mind want a fake Dark Mark?" Ron muttered to himself, rubbing his chin.

"Well, it would certainly give him something to talk about at parties," a deep female voice suggested from beside him. Ron looked up into the slightly smiling, mildly questioning face of Darcie Bethel. Her sharp hazel eyes were looking down through a pair of wire-framed spectacles at the picture in his hands. She pushed several strands of rapidly graying, shoulder-length black hair behind her ears and asked, "How do you know it's a fake?"

That was the reason Ron liked Darcie so much more than Richards. There was no denial, no accusations, no interrogation and no argument over whether it actually was a fake or not. She believed him right off and asked only for a shred of proof so she could be sure he was right. Ron pointed out the snake in the picture for her. "The tongue's pointing down and to the right," he said. "On all the other Dark Mark tattoos I've seen, and I've seen my fair share of them, the tongue always points down and to the left. This is like someone drew a Dark Mark and pressed it against Spiegel's skin while the ink was still wet." He looked back up and continued, abruptly changing his tone to sound more businesslike. "It's much neater than that, of course. I'm just saying that it's backwards."

Darcie nodded in understanding. "I see. Good of you to notice that, Weasley." Ron smiled faintly in thanks, but before he could say anything, Richards was back.

Seeing that Darcie had arrived, he gestured impatiently. "Well?" he asked irritably. "What's keeping the two of you? Get in here!" Richards stalked back into the examination room and Darcie rolled her eyes at Ron as the two of them went in after him.

As they entered the room, the sight of a man stretched out on the examination table, obviously unconscious, and wearing a pair of standard hospital-white pants and nothing else, greeted them. Darcie raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Ron, letting his curiosity get the better of him, asked, "So, what exactly are we looking at here?"

Richards pursed his lips the way he usually did whenever he heard Ron talk, like a naughty child, without having been spoken to, but he allowed Dr. Stein to answer the question. "This," the elderly gentlemen replied, "is Mr. Scott Spiegel. 39 years old, 5' 11", 193 lbs. He's a muggle stock broker who lives on the outskirts of Wimbledon. He's been divorced once, no children, but he does have a rather large Doberman Pinscher named Shelby." Stein cleared his throat. "All this, however, I could have sent to you by owl. No, the reason I've asked for your presence here was to ask you about the man's tattoo."

"Well, we know about his tattoo!" Richards broke in. "It's the Dark Mark! We can see it right there, plain as day." He pointed to Spiegel's motion-less left arm. Stein shook his head.

"That's where you are mistaken, I'm afraid, Mr. Richards." He turned around and walked to the cupboard on the wall behind him, pulling a bottle and a clean cotton-ball down and coming back to the examination table. He lifted Spiegel's arm so that the "Dark Mark" was facing upwards and unscrewed the top off of the bottle. "As I'm sure Mr. Weasley has noticed by now," he continued, dabbing the cotton-ball in the liquid from the bottle, "This isn't an ordinary Dark Mark. As a matter of fact," he rubbed the cotton-ball against the tattoo, "it's not a Dark Mark at all."

He rubbed the cotton-ball on the pale skin for another few moments and Ron caught sight of the label on the bottle he was using. Magical Mess Remover. Glancing back to what Dr. Stein was doing, Ron had his suspicions confirmed as the ink on Spiegel's arm faded easily away.

"Nothing but a shabby imitation," Dr. Stein concluded, popping the stained cotton-ball into a plastic baggy he pulled out of his pocket. "Spiegel's, or somebody's, attempt to make us immediately jump to conclusions if he was caught. Not a bad idea, in all honesty, and most people would never have noticed it, but with people who are extremely familiar with the tattoo working on the case...well, as you can obviously see, it did not work."

Richards was looking ready to yell again. "You said you wanted us here so you could tell us something about this tattoo that you couldn't send us by owl! So far, I have yet to—"

"I'm getting there," Dr. Stein interrupted. "But you are right. I asked you here to talk about Mr. Spiegel's tattoo. But the thing you must understand is that THAT," he indicated the unconscious man's now-bare forearm, "was not the tattoo to which I was referring."

As Ron glanced over at Darcie, who merely shrugged, Dr. Stein reached across the examination table and took hold of Spiegel's right hand. Holding it palm down, he pointed to what looked like a tiny blemish along the side of the man's thumb. It was a small black mark on the far side of his thumb joint, which, upon very close inspection, looked almost like—

"A two?" Ron asked, clearly bewildered. "Is that a two?"

Dr. Stein shook his head slowly. "I believe," he responded, "that it is a cursive 'Q'. I am not positive, by any means, but I've done a bit of research since I first noticed it and, though I have found several references to 'Q' tattoos and markings, I have yet to discover what exactly they mean. Many of the references are from Muggle sources. So I am far from certain whether or not that is what this man's tattoo is. That is why I asked the three of you to come here. I was wondering if any of you knew anything whatsoever about this mark."

Ron, still looking flabbergasted, just shook his head. Richards jerked his head irritably in a gesture that Ron could only assume also meant no. Darcie, however, was squinting thoughtfully at the tiny black letter. Dr. Stein watched her closely as she chewed her lip absently. After a few moments of silent contemplation, she straightened and looked up from Spiegel's hand. "Questor," she muttered to herself at last.

Dr. Stein studied her questioningly while Ron and Richards just stared at her blankly. "The Questor Society," she explained hastily, glancing around the room, a nervous expression suddenly on her face. Ron had never seen Darcie quite so anxious. She looked almost like she was expecting to see somebody standing outside the window, listening to every word she was saying. "My father," she continued, hesitating now. "He was a member. They... It was..." She coughed harshly for a second and then her eyes widened in panic as though she had just realized that she was speaking out loud. She quickly turned away. "I've got to go."

Before they could say another word, Darcie left the room and disappeared down the hall. Ron almost went after her, but Richards, who probably guessed that women need space once in a while, sent him a warning glance and he stayed put. Wondering what on Earth that was all about, he decided that, while he wasn't going to go looking for her, he was going to ask Darcie the next time he saw her if she was okay.

Dr. Stein, though slightly disappointed that his only source of information had fled, was nonetheless happily writing down the things Darcie had said. "Questor..." he muttered to himself. "Father, father... Do either of you know what Mrs. Bethel's father's name was?"

Richards thought for a moment. "Daystrum. Something Daystrum."

"Marvin," Ron said quietly. Richards nodded in agreement.

"He's right," he announced. "It was Marvin Daystrum."

"Thanks," Dr. Stein replied absently, scribbling on a clipboard. "Alright. Now," he looked back up at Ron and Richards. "Unless there's anything else you gentlemen can think to add, I see no reason why I should keep you here any longer." He got up and went to the door, seeing them out. "Have a good day, boys."

Richards looked about ready to explode at being referred to as a "boy", but Dr. Stein had already closed the door behind them. Fuming, he turned to face Ron. "What are you smirking at, Weasley? Get back to work!" Ron, who hadn't been smirking in the slightest, felt no need to tell Richards that he had not only the rest of the day, but most of the rest of the week off. He just nodded and strolled off in the direction of his office. Calling after him, Richards shouted, "And don't forget to read that file! It's important, Weasley! I want you to be fully aware of what's going on here!"

Ron waved to him. "Yessir! Will do!"

As the younger man disappeared around a corner, Hank Richards shook his head exasperatedly. "Lazy bum."

Around the corner, Ron's mouth had twisted in irritation. "Bloody wanker."

* * *

_Author's notes: Sorry for the lengthy absence, all. But I'm not going to say "I'll update sooner next time," because whenever I say that, it usually jinxes it, plus Uni's started up for the season. I do hope you enjoyed this chapter though, because it included the long-awaited debut of... dundunDUH! The Questor Society, which you will get to know quite intimately soon enough. :) Oh, and a gold star goes out to Shakespeare's Muse for making my day by 1) reviewing so nicely and 2) checking out my story in the first place._


	5. Epsilon

Author's Notes: Rowling, Warner Bros., etc. own Harry Potter and his friends. I lay claim to Melfoth, Nadia, Dougie, Brutus, the Questors,and all of the other teeny background characters who are mostly unacknowledged. Thanks be to Rachel and Kim, yet again. You're both dolls.

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**DRAMATIS PERSONAE**

**Chapter 4**

**By Diocletian

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_August 22, 2005: First Day of the ICW World Summit_

* * *

Hermione's short heels clicked rhythmically against the floor as she made her way down a corridor at the Ministry of Magic. She had to stop by her office that morning to pick up some proposals and a list of the national limitation laws before she could begin making her way to the long-awaited International Confederation of Wizards World Summit. The weeklong gathering was starting that very day in an enormous conference complex that the Ministry had spent the last 18 months constructing. 

Protective of their newest building and the people scheduled to be in it, the Ministry had set up some of the tightest security measures they had for this Summit and the slightest breach in protocol was to be dealt with swiftly and severely. Everybody who was allowed to be in the building, from the most prominent Head of Department to the lowliest janitor, would have to check in at a security point. They had to have special security passes and extra identification with them to even get in. The guards and Aurors present at the security points had lists upon lists of names, including when each of those people were supposed to be in the building, when they were supposed to leave, and where they were supposed to be while they were there. Not a toe was to be permitted out of line.

After grabbing the files she needed, Hermione made sure she had her security pass, left the Department of International Magical Co-operation offices and headed for one of the many lifts down to the Atrium. Several fellow delegates who were also on their way to the Summit, and at least a dozen inter-departmental memos, followed her as she stepped into the lift. It was a busy day at the Ministry today.

Impatiently tapping her foot as the lift descended, Hermione reflected on the annoyance that was the non-apparition field surrounding the Summit building. She had to take one of the fireplaces in the Atrium and floo her way there and pray that the trip wouldn't get her clothes too dirty. She realized, of course, that the field was a necessary precaution, but that didn't mean she couldn't still be aggravated.

The lift passed right by Level Six without a pause, but when they reached Level Seven, they shuddered to a halt. Several of the violet memos flew out, a couple more flew in and two men stepped on to the lift. Darius Melforth, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, had his nose stuck in a thick binder and didn't appear to have noticed the fact that there was anybody aside from himself in the lift. Beside him, however, Marcus Flint, who was now the Junior Deputy Head of the DMGS, was examining the delegates surrounding him with an absent expression on his face.

When his eyes finally came to rest on Hermione, her nose twitched in irritation. She only just managed to hold back a scowl when Flint smiled at her in an amused fashion and turned away. Flint, the youngest Junior Deputy working at the Ministry aside from Ron, had been the JD Head of his Department for a year now, and Hermione still couldn't figure out how he gotten the job in the first place. Daddy's money probably, because no one in their right mind would hire him for his skills and work-habits, not without being well compensated for it.

Ron on the other hand, Hermione thought with a small smile on her face as she looked down at the new diamond ring shimmering on her left hand, was actually a half-decent worker. She had had her doubts when he had first told her, just before his twentieth birthday, that he was quitting his Auror training in favor of spending his days behind a desk. He had never shown himself to be very... _interested_ in the paperwork aspect of things, and she was scared that he might become bored very quickly with such a job. But he had proven himself extremely adept at reading reports and filling out incident forms when they were about something that interested him, especially with the right incentives. If he was permitted to view the crime scene, see evidence and suspects first-hand (and play loud music while finishing the paperwork), then he did a fantastic job. Plus, there was the money, of course. He had promised himself, after the way that he had grown up, that he would never live in poverty again. It had transformed him from the lazy boy he'd been at Hogwarts, who had never really seen what was in it for him, into a very determined worker who was doing his best to support himself and his future family interests.

Hermione sighed when Flint looked back at her, that oily smile of his again plastered across his face. When the lift arrived at the Atrium, Hermione exited quickly, pushing past him in a hurry to get away. She had only gone a few steps, however, when she heard her name being called. Turning impatiently, Hermione saw Ginny Weasley smile widely at her as she waited for a nearby lift, unable to wave due to the medium-sized, clear plastic case she was carrying.

Upon closer inspection, Hermione could see that the case in her friend's hands contained a rack of test tubes, each holding an apparently different chemical substance. The sign pasted to the top of the case, written in large block letters, read: "Property of the Department of Mysteries, SO KEEP YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OUT OF IT!"

"What have you got there, Gin?" Hermione asked curiously, trying to get a better look at the unlabelled contents of the test tubes. Ginny pulled away slightly and shook her head.

"Nuh uh, Ms. Granger," she said, attempting to blow away a bit of red hair that had fallen from her messy bun into her face. "You is nosing where your nose ain't welcome."

Hermione tried to look indignant. "Well, ex-CUUUSSE me!" she replied snootily. Ginny bit her lip to keep from laughing, but a wide grin split across her face. "Forgive me for breathing!"

Ginny shook her head and shifted the box slightly to get a better grip on it. "That's a good try, Hermione," she admitted. "But I'm still not going to tell you what this stuff is. It's Unspeakable business. And aside from that, I don't personally know myself."

Hermione pouted childishly and stuck out her tongue and they both chuckled. The lift Ginny was waiting for stopped behind her with a _"ding!"_ and the grille was pulled open. Ginny frowned slightly. "Well, that's my cue," she said unhappily. "I've got to get back to work. Are you headed over to the Summit?" Hermione nodded. "Well, have fun then. Colin and I are supposed to be over there tomorrow on lap dog duty for Ruttledge, so maybe I'll see you then. Bye!" Ginny grinned over her shoulder at Hermione, who waved a bit and walked over towards the Atrium fireplaces as the redhead entered the lift and disappeared in the direction of Level One, the Department of Mysteries.

The case Ginny was carrying did indeed contain a rack of test tubes. And at the moment, the contents of those test tubes were top secret. Each one contained a small sample of each of the chemicals that the muggle, Dr. Ruben Frump, had been trying to sell to Theodore Nott that night in the Genesis Café. The Unspeakables had been there that night because there had been a lot of talk in the shadier areas of the magical community about several instances of various, unidentified wizards smuggling restricted muggle goods into the wizarding world. The DMLE had been informed and then the DM had discovered that the smuggled goods were chemicals of some sort and had been obligated to step in and get a hold of a sample of said chemicals. It was very important for the Ministry to find out what materials people were sneaking beneath their very noses for such a long time. So she was transporting these specimens from the criminal evidence depository to the Department of Mysteries for testing.

Ginny had only managed to convince the Head of the Department of Mysteries, a 46-year-old man named Clifford Ruttledge, that she was fit for work again (after her "accident") that morning. It had been harder than she would have thought it would be, but she was back now and had thrown herself headfirst into the first task she had come across, which had turned out to be retrieving chemical samples.

Glancing down at the case she carried as the elevator slowly ascended towards the DM, Ginny wondered idly what the chemicals were. No one had had the chance to examine them yet, so at the moment they didn't know. Mentally shrugging, she stepped out of the elevator as it reached Level One, taking the mystery chemicals with her.

Going to the end of the corridor, she stepped into the door that Harry had led them into more than nine years ago, the night Sirius had died. Leaving the door she had come through open, she now faced a circular room full of more doors. She muttered a password under her breath and one of the other doors, the third one on her right, flashed green once. Walking over to it, she opened that door before turning back and shutting the first one. Then she stepped into the second door and closed it behind her, hearing the circular room begin to turn behind her when she did.

Now inside the new room, she looked around briefly and sniffed. It was white, stuffy and sterilized. Very impersonal and professional. She didn't like it at all. A pair of people wearing lab-coats were bickering as Ginny came in, but the argument ceased when they saw the case she carried.

The older of the two, a rather plump man named Archibald Croaker, quickly pulled on a pair of latex gloves and took the case from Ginny's hands. Ginny, who had already been wearing gloves, pulled a shrunken clipboard out of her robe pocket and magically returned it to normal size, pulling a quill out from behind her ear as she did.

"Sign this for me, if you would, Archie," she requested as she handed him the quill and clipboard when he placed the chemical case gingerly down onto the stainless counter. "There, there, aaanndd there."

Croaker shook his head as he scrawled. "Why is it always three?" he asked absently. "I really don't like threes. I mean, it never fails. You sign office forms in three places, no matter what it's about. You break a glass, you may a well throw two more down beside it, because you'll break them within a week anyway. You tell your wife 'One kid and no more,' you go and get a vasectomy after she gets pregnant, just to be absolutely certain it'll never happen again, and then she has the nerve to go and have triplets."

Ginny smiled as Archie gave her back the clipboard. "Well, that's all for the moment, but when you identify each of the chemicals, I'll need you to sign some other stuff." She shrank the clipboard once again and stuffed it into her pocket. "How are the boys, anyway?"

Archie rolled his eyes. "Brian and Todd are both playing Quidditch once school starts again and Jordan got the letter last week saying he made prefect. Mary and I are very proud," he said automatically.

"Well, that's lovely," Ginny replied, grinning. "I played Quidditch in school too, you know. The whole family did. Two of my brothers were offered positions on league teams when they graduated. Love the game."

She cleared her throat and changed the subject. "Now, if I come back in at the end of the day, will you know what each of these chemicals are?" Archie nodded. "Good man. I'll see you then." Ginny leaned around the man slightly to glance at the silent witch standing behind him. "It's good to see you again, Nadia," she said kindly to the shy assistant. Nadia nodded and Ginny turned and walked out the door.

Archie turned to his assistant. "Well, put on your gloves. We've got work to do."

* * *

It was late when Hermione finally came home after her first day at the Summit. It had mostly been an introduction for the visiting delegates and representatives, but it had been a busy day just the same. She was content, though mentally exhausted, and would have liked nothing more than to snuggle under her cool bedcovers and go to sleep. Stepping through the front door, she saw that the small, rather picturesque house she shared with Ron outside Brighton was dark. Figuring that he was already in bed, she did her best to be quiet. Tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter and shedding her cloak with a sigh of relief, Hermione made her way towards their bedroom to change. She was passing by the home office that she and Ron shared when they had to finish work outside of the workplace when she noticed that the house wasn't entirely dark after all. 

In the back corner of the living room, where the lamplight wasn't visible from the front of the house, Ron sat on his worn and comfortable easy-chair, flipping thoughtfully through a file full of typewritten pages and full-color photos. Hearing Hermione walk in, he looked up and smiled slightly in greeting before going back to the sheets in his hands. Curious, Hermione went over to stand behind his chair and, trying not to appear as though she had an ulterior motive, gently started rubbing his shoulders as she peered at the file in his hands.

"What are you working on?" she asked innocently as Ron closed his eyes, sighing in contentment while she massaged his sore shoulder muscles.

"Just some bizarre case file Richards told me to look over," he answered. "I'm supposed to show up at the Summit for a meeting tomorrow morning, so I was looking through a bunch of my papers anyway and I figured I'd look this over while I was at it." He paused, moaning slightly as Hermione hit a particularly sensitive spot near his neck. "It's just some weirdo with strange tattoo issues, though. It's really nothing," he added nonchalantly.

"If it were 'nothing,'" Hermione observed, "you would be in bed already."

Ron rolled his eyes at her logic. "Your beauty is surpassed only by your brilliance," he said mockingly. Hermione rolled her eyes right back at him.

Ron let himself relax into her touch for another few moments before reluctantly pulling away and turning to face her. "Have you ever heard of the 'Questor Society'?" he asked abruptly.

Hermione blinked, startled. "That was right out of the blue," she commented. Ron merely nodded and continued to watch her, waiting for an answer. "Well, um, I've never heard of the Questor _Society_, per se," she answered after a moment. "But the word 'Questor' is from Ancient Rome. It was used to describe a certain group of people. The Questors were like judges, of a sort. Accusers. They were generally very well-placed in Society; they had high positions, lots of respect. Generally, they considered themselves to be better than anybody who wasn't one of them."

She stopped then, and Ron could tell she was barely able to hold back from quoting an extensive list of historical documents and references he should look into. He was thankful she had restrained herself. He continued to gaze at her for a moment, biting his lip thoughtfully.

"Huh," he said at last. "Interesting. Thanks."

Hermione raised an eyebrow curiously, but Ron waved her off. "It's just something Darcie said at work a couple days ago. But like I said: It's nothing."

Hermione decided her fiancé needed some sort of distraction. She smiled seductively at him and reached over to shut his file, tossing it onto a nearby coffee table. "Well, then, Mr. Weasley," she said playfully, unbuttoning the top two buttons on Ron's shirt. "If you're quite done, I think you need to do something to repay me for that lovely neck massage you've just received."

Ron smiled back at her and ran his fingers through her hair. "And however will I manage that, Miss Granger?"

"If you would accompany me to the bedroom," she said, walking airily back towards the hallway and throwing Ron a _'come hither'_ look over her shoulder, "I'll bet I could come up with a few ideas."

Ron stood and stalked after her playfully, trying to reach out and tickle her as she ran laughing into the next room, while the file lay forgotten on the table.

* * *

Ron wasn't the only one puzzling over a file from work that night. Back in London at 215 Fairview Crescent, Ginny sat at her kitchen table nursing a bowl of Chocolate Almond ice cream and studying the list of chemicals Archie Croaker had given her earlier that evening while the radio blared from the counter. She recognized about half the items on the list, but she didn't have a clue what Theodore Nott would want with them. Ammonium, for example. What the hell would a former-Death Eater want with a constituent for cleaning solution? 

Ginny sighed and ate another spoonful of ice cream. It didn't make any sense. Wizards didn't use muggle chemicals. They happily left that sort of business to the non-magic folk and stuck as closely to their dragon's blood and newt eye potions as they could. Pureblooded wizards especially, like Theodore Nott, whom Ginny clearly remembered had been on friendly terms with Draco Malfoy and his goons while they were in school and whose father had been a prominent Death Eater, normally looked down their noses at muggle "chemistry".

So what did Nott want with them? That was the real question.

Ginny was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of Colin's bedroom door opening. She turned to see Colin's boyfriend, Douglas Kibble, walk out, tying the drawstring on his pajama pants. When he saw her, Dougie froze. He obviously hadn't known she was home.

Aside from being skinny, Dougie Kibble was immensely shy. He liked Ginny well enough, but he didn't relish the fact that she knew all of the gritty details about his relationship with Colin. He blushed a lot and was known to stutter when he was nervous. Ginny liked him and believed that her ever-enthusiastic friend Col was good for Dougie. But the look on Dougie's face when he saw Ginny looking at him as he tied his pants was very reminiscent of a deer caught in exceptionally bright headlights.

She chuckled quietly to herself and waved vaguely before ignoring him and going back to her files and ice cream. She had discovered from previous experiences that, when Dougie was stuck in an uncomfortable situation, he liked it best if he could go unnoticed until the situation was no longer considered a "situation" at all.

So Ginny ignored him and he tried to ignore her, continuing nervously into the bathroom to finish getting cleaned up. A few seconds after the bathroom door clicked shut, Colin emerged from his bedroom, clad in only an old t-shirt and a loose pair of boxers, and joined Ginny at the table, stealing her spoon, which was full of her ice cream. "How was work?" he asked with his mouth full. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Your manners are simply splendid there, darling," she commented sarcastically, taking her spoon back. She ate her own scoop of ice cream, savored it for a moment and swallowed it entirely before speaking again. "I mean, I thought you grew up with muggles, not wolves."

"I did," he said, getting up and going to the silverware drawer to grab his own spoon. "But Dennis, the utter epitome of a young, single, heterosexual male, just had such a bad influence on me. It was inevitable I was going to resort to bad manners eventually." He plunked back down into his chair again and dug his spoon into Ginny's ice cream. "Besides," he added. "It's just _you_."

Ginny snorted. "So I'm not worthy of having a polite roommate anymore, huh?"

Colin nodded enthusiastically, pleased that she seemed to have grasped the path of his banter so quickly. "That's basically it, yeah. See, you understand perfectly." He ducked as Ginny tried to attack him with her spoon and he caught sight of the papers lying beside the ice cream pint. "What are you working on, anyway?"

Ginny gave up on trying to stab her roommate with her spoon and ate some more ice cream. It was almost gone by this point. "The stuff Nott was trying to smuggle. Croaker identified it all for us this afternoon and I made a copy of the list before I handed it in." Colin's interest was piqued and he grabbed the file. "We still don't have a clue what he wanted with any of it though," she added.

Skimming through the list, Colin's brow furrowed. "Ammonia?" he asked. "Nitric acid, methane? What would a wizard want to do with this stuff?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Col, if we knew that, do you think I would have brought this file home and told you _'we still don't have a clue what he wanted with it'_? I mean, really." Colin blushed, but remained indignant.

"Well, you don't have to be all snooty about it, you know," he replied, being at least as snooty (if not more so) as Ginny had just been. "I was only _asking_. It's not a crime." Ginny stuck her tongue out and put the cover on over the remaining bit of ice cream before putting it back in the freezer. "Look at you, sticking your tongue out. You're so juvenile," Colin observed. "Honestly, you're like a child."

Ginny glared at him. "And you're a spiteful bastard," she retorted. "It's almost amazing how mean you are. Especially to me."

Colin was about to reply when Dougie came out of the bathroom, fully dressed. Colin's face lit up as he grinned and Dougie smiled shyly back. Ginny felt suddenly uncomfortable in the presence of the glowing pair and got up from the table. Dougie must have seen something of what she was feeling on her face because he frowned and grabbed his shoes from where he had tossed them by the door earlier. "Well, I guess I should get ready to go home."

Ginny saw the flash of disappointment cross her roommate's face and gave a silent sigh. "No, don't worry, Doug," she said. "You and Colin stay in for while, do your thing, have a guy's night or whatever. I was just heading out anyway." She patted her list, lying on the table. "I'll leave this out for you to look through, if you want, Col." Colin nodded and Ginny could see the gratitude in his eyes for what she was doing. Clearing her throat and giving a brief grin, Ginny went to her room to change before heading out for the night.

* * *

Twenty-some minutes later, she arrived outside Harry's apartment and knocked politely on his door. Hearing a voice call out "JUST A MINUTE!" and a small dog beginning to bark on the other side of the door, she waited patiently, tapping her foot and humming the tune of 'Only the Good Die Young.' After a few moments she heard the chain being pulled back and the dog stopped barking. 

Ginny put on her most pathetic smile as Harry opened the door, a black and rust-coloured Yorkshire terrier in his arms. Brutus struggled excitedly to free himself from Harry's grasp and Harry put him down when he saw who it was outside the door. The tiny canine jumped and panted happily at Ginny's feet and she petted him on the head and scratched between his ears. She looked up at his owner as Brutus licked her hand.

"Hey there," she greeted. Harry smiled. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Hey," he replied, stepping back from the door to let her through. "You want to come in? I was just about to have a cup of tea if you'd care to join me."

Ginny gently nudged the dog forward and stepped into the apartment, shutting the door behind her. "Sure. I'd love to. I've just been kicked out of my apartment for the night, so I may as well do something." Harry gave her a disbelieving look as he poured water for the kettle and Brutus followed him across the room. Ginny gave in. "Okay, okay. I volunteered to leave to give Colin and his boy-toy some alone time because I knew you would let me bum around and sleep on your couch if I asked you to."

Harry nodded now, convinced that this was the more truthful version of the story, and reached for some teabags to set out for when the water was done. "Feel free to spend the night on the couch," he said. "Anytime. It's a good couch, I'm sure you'll sleep fine. Besides, I know that if I try and be a gentleman and offer you the bed, you'll say no."

Ginny chuckled and fetched two mugs and a tin of biscuits from the cupboard. "Damn straight." She found what she was looking for and set it all down on the table. "Besides, we both know from experience that your bed is lumpy."

"I happen to like it the way it is."

For a few moments, there was an awkward silence as they both recalled a rainy night, about two years before, when two drunk friends had gone home together and done something stupid. They had woken up the next morning with pounding headaches, not to mention more than a little surprise about who they were next to, and made a vow that the occasion was never to be spoken of again (especially not within earshot of Ron).

Harry cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. "Do you want mint or orange pekoe? I think I may have lemon stashed away somewhere, but those are the main choices."

Brutus wandered over and lay down on top of Ginny's feet. "Mint, please," she replied, not meeting Harry's eyes. Harry nodded, and quickly looked away from her so that she could not see the blush on his face.

"Not a problem."

* * *

Author's Note: Please feel free toreview. Suggestions are welcomed and, if it doesn't interfere with my plot line, I may even take some into consideration. Thanks! 


	6. Zeta

Author's Note: JKR, Bloomsbury and WB own rights to everybody interesting in this story. The only ones I own are Scott Spiegel, Ruttledge, Joel Shaw, Sheldon Welling, Richards, Darcie, Nadia and the many nameless Ministry people who flutter about in this particular chapter. There are probably more, but I'm too tired to check. This chapter's a little shorter than usual, but it's a good short. Trust me. Thanks be to Rach and Kim, who never fail to ask (coughnagcough) me about the next chapter whenever I see them. Plus, this one's dedicated to all my lovely reviewers (Y'all know who y'are). I love you guys!

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**DRAMATIS PERSONAE**

**Chapter 4**

**By Diocletian**

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_August 23, 2005: Second Day of the ICW World Summit _

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Hermione woke early that morning, sprawled comfortably across Ron's warm chest. His steady breathing rocked her rhythmically up and down, and aside from a few cars going by outside, his light snores were the only thing she could hear in the quiet dawn air. She lifted herself slowly off of him and kissed him lightly on the lips as she got out of bed. He barely stirred.

Glancing around their room, Hermione cringed at the sight of their various items of clothing having been strewn haphazardly across the space. For pity's sake, Ron's boxers were hanging on the corner of the headboard! Clucking her tongue quietly to herself in a disapproving manner, Hermione scrambled around, picking up all of the things they had carelessly shed the previous night and dropped them into the hamper. She was determined to fully complete this task before she even thought about doing anything else.

In the end, it only took her a few minutes to find everything (though looking for Ron's tie had been a challenge) and then she allowed herself the luxury of proceeding to take a shower. Ron was still asleep by the time she finished and had come back in the bedroom to change for work. Shrugging on her robe and slipping on her shoes, Hermione glanced over at him from the corner of her eye, debating whether or not to wake him. He had to attend the World Summit today, but he wouldn't need to arrive for a couple of hours yet and he would get cranky if she woke him before he needed to be up.

After contemplating for another few moments, she decided that she'd make some coffee and if he wasn't awake by the time she was finished a cup or two, then she'd wake him up. He'd be less bear-like if she could get some caffeine into him soon enough after he woke up.

So, setting a pot on to brew, Hermione scurried back and forth around the kitchen making a small breakfast. She checked her briefcase three times to make sure that she had all of the documents she would need for today at the Summit and re-brushed her hair twice before the coffee was done. She poured a mug, filled it with the appropriate amounts of milk and sugar, drank it as slowly as she could, then went in to wake Ron.

He was resistant to her efforts for a while, but when she told him there was a spider crawling over his shoulder, he jolted upright. Hermione fought the urge to giggle over the phobia that he had never quite grown out of, and kissed him on the cheek instead. "Morning, Ronald dear," she said.

Ron gave her a dirty look when he realized he wasn't being ravaged by any great, filthy spiders. "Mornings are when I like you least, you know."

Hermione scoffed. "I find myself caring very little. Now get up. You have to get ready for work."

"Shit," Ron moaned. He pulled away from his fiancée and yanked the bedcovers up over his head. "Tell them I died last night," he mumbled through the blankets, "And so I am, tragically, unable to attend."

Hermione frowned and grabbed hold of the bottom edge of the blanket, pulling it off the bed as the redhead beneath it squawked unhappily. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, get your arse out of that bed! Is this the kind of example you are going to set for our child when they're born!?"

"Yes!" he cried indignantly, trying to snatch back his blanket.

Hermione sighed in anger and exasperation and tossed it into his face. "Fine! Go back to sleep! When you get fired, don't come whining to me." She turned and stomped out of the bedroom door. Ron groaned in exasperation and sat up.

"Fine!" he shouted. "I'm up! See? Me, here, awake?" His only answer was a vague clunking sound as Hermione grabbed her empty mug from the kitchen table and put it into the sink. "Oh, come on, Mione. I barely slept last night. Of course I'm going to be cranky!"

This time, the response was a slightly more civilized, though it was still obvious that she was ignoring his pleading. "Have a good day, Ron. I'll see you when you get there."

Ron heard her footsteps approaching the door and, before she could leave, he exclaimed, in the most pathetic voice he could manage: "I love you 'Mione!" Listening hopefully, he heard her sigh in defeat and gave a silent cheer.

"I love you too, Ron," she answered. Then she turned back around and left. Ron threw himself back down onto the bed.

He hadn't been lying when he'd said that he had barely slept that night. He had been too busy thinking about that Questor thing... well, he was busy thinking about it after Hermione had fallen asleep. Before that, he had obviously been distracted by something else entirely. But the thought troubled him, nonetheless.

Why would somebody have a tattoo representing a group of ancient Roman accusers and judges, he wondered. And a muggle, at that. Because Scott Spiegel was clearly a muggle, that much was obvious from the report he had been reading. Just as the Unspeakables had originally guessed, there wasn't a trace of magic in him, despite what some of the Aurors had thought. But what Darcie had said was that this Questor mark thing represented some king of a society. One that her father seemed to have been a part of. Her pureblooded father.

It made very little sense to Ron. Purebloods who thought themselves special enough to belong to secret societies in the wizarding world were usually the same kind who picketed the Magical Creatures division of the Ministry, saying that muggles should be formerly classified as "Beasts". They weren't the kind of people who were inclined to join anything that a muggle was a part of unless it was, say, a sacrificial killing. So what the hell was the deal with Spiegel and this _Questor Society_?

Ron had puzzled over it for a long time the previous night. He was still exhausted. So, even though the shrill anger in his fiancée's voice as she told him to get up continued to ring in his ears, he laid back down in bed. If he could get just a few more minutes of shut-eye squeezed in before he had to leave for work then he would feel much better prepared to face the day. Just a half an hour or so would suffice, he told himself as he rolled over, pulling the reclaimed blanket with him.

* * *

Colin and Ginny rolled their eyes at each other as the guard at the security point they were trying to pass through checked their schedules for the third time. He was obviously quite new at this because, really, he had no idea what he was doing. They had been waiting at security for more than ten minutes now and were starting to hold up traffic. People behind them were muttering to themselves, checking their watches, or going to different security points to get in. Ginny didn't blame them. It was getting to be very frustrating.

She and Colin weren't even there on official business, really. They were there to accompany the Head of the Department of Mysteries, Cliff Ruttledge, into a few of his meetings and be there when he needed to refer to people who knew something about the actual work done by the Department. So, they were basically progress reports that spoke. And nodded. Fun, fun.

At long last the two of them made it through the security point and were allowed to go on their way to find Ruttledge, who was supposedly in Conference Room F-12. They patiently worked their way through the crowds and up the stairs, walking down different hallways and asking for directions. It took them a while, but they did eventually make it to F-12, flashing security passes to the guard at the door as they entered. They quietly took their seats, which were located to the left of Ruttledge, who was reviewing some of his papers on the French Department of Mysteries and their various regulations and requirements.

Ginny took a few moments before the meeting officially came to order to look around the room at the rest of their fellow occupants. Aside from Colin, Ruttledge and herself, the others present included Joel Shaw, the Senior Deputy Head of the DM; Sheldon Welling, the JD Head; a few lab workers whose names Ginny couldn't think of at the moment; Hank Richards, the DMLE Head; Darcie Bethel, his Senior Deputy; and a couple of Aurors she recognized vaguely. Not to mention the fact that the French, Dutch and Spanish equivalents to each were also present. It was a debate over European laws and restrictions regarding Departments of Mysteries, so the representatives for both the Departments of Mysteries and Magical Law Enforcement were supposed to be there. Ginny spent another few moments absently spinning her security pass, which hung loosely around her neck, between her fingers before she noticed the fact that the DMLE reps were one short.

She glanced over at Colin. He gave her a confused look and mouthed, _'Where the hell is Ron?'_ Ginny could only shrug before the ICW delegate running the meeting called it to order. She spared a quick look over at Hank Richards, Ron's boss and suspected sworn enemy. He was looking more than slightly pissed and she looked away, hoping to God that he didn't know that she was related to Ron in any way, shape or form.

This wasn't like Ron at all, she thought as the argument a.k.a. debate commenced. He's never late for work. That was, after all, how he'd managed to become the youngest Junior Deputy Head of Department currently working for the Ministry. By being so bull-headed and stubborn in respect to his brothers' lazy perceptions of him that he forced himself daily to work hard and be prompt for everything. So what was going on today?

* * *

"Ron!?" A voice echoed through the front hall of Ron and Hermione's house, jerking Ron from his peaceful slumber. "Mother of all that is good and holy, mate, are you still here?! Get your arse out of bed, you're already late!"

Ron moaned, the words being yelled at him through the bedroom door not yet sinking in to a level that would transfer them to his brain. He rolled over unhappily and worked his eyes slowly open so he could look at the clock. 10:58 AM. He realized gradually that there was something wrong with that number today. It meant that 10:30 AM had already gone by. Wasn't there something important going on this morning at 10:30?

"Oh shit."

He leapt out of bed, yanking on a pair of boxers from his open wardrobe and running out to the corridor to tell whoever had come and woken him to bugger off until he came home from work that afternoon. Though THIS afternoon, he'd probably be coming home from what USED to be work, reading through the Daily Prophet classifieds as he came through the door because Richards was going to fire him.

There, standing in the hallway as Ron raced to the bathroom where the freshly cleaned clothes were usually piled, and not very surprisingly, was Harry Potter, looking much too bright and much too chipper for someone who had just completely ruined his best friend's day. Ron didn't feel that it was normal for someone to want to punch their best mate in the nose first thing in the morning, but really, Harry deserved it beyond any doubt.

"You git!" he shouted as he tried to pull on some pants he'd found folded up in the bathroom. "Why didn't you come wake me up sooner?"

Harry looked thunderstruck as he placed his Styrofoam coffee cup and newspaper on the kitchen table and went to help Ron pick out a matching shirt and tie. "If I had known you were still here instead of having gone to work an hour ago, I would have!" he answered.

Ron huffed and quickly fastened his belt. He took the shirt Harry passed him and threw it on. Harry also gave Ron his half-full cup of coffee to drink while he went to find him a work robe. "What ARE you doing here, anyway?" Ron asked as he downed the drink, when he finally realized that Harry didn't live there after all and therefore had no reason to be there.

Harry returned with both a robe and a tie, which he tossed to his friend who promptly started putting them on. "I came to get my book," he replied. "Hermione asked if she could borrow it while I was in Japan. But now I'm back and I don't have to go back to work for another week, so I want to read it again. Hermione said she was done and that she would leave it in the living room for me, so here I am. Then I found out that your door was still unlocked."

Ron had the decency to look sheepish as Harry continued. "You stupid ponce. What possessed you to keep sleeping? I know Hermione; she must have woken you up. Richards already hates you, Ron, why are you handing him ammunition?"

Having finished with his tie, Ron pulled on his robes, hastily brushed his hair, decided that a shave could wait until later, and hurriedly went to pull on his shoes. "Because I'm a stupid ponce," he answered dully.

Harry shook his head in exasperation. "Ron, Hank is going to murder you for this, you know that, right?" Ron ducked slightly to take a final look at himself in the mirror.

"Yeah, I know that. Shit. I mean, really, _shit_. Why did this have to happen TODAY?" All Harry could do in response was shrug. Ron sighed and grabbed his briefcase. "So, how do I look? Ready to be presented to foreign diplomats as Britain's poster boy for stupid ponces?"

"You look like you think you're about to be fired."

"That's close enough." Ron turned and stepped out the back door. "Lock up behind you when you leave, would you, Harry?"

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Sure, of course." Ron sent him one last parting look of gratitude as he disappeared out the door to go outside where he could safely apparate to the Ministry where he could catch an authorized floo to the Summit. "And I do honestly hope you don't get sacked!" Harry called after him.

* * *

The first meeting was adjourned. Ginny still couldn't believe that Ron hadn't shown up. He didn't even come in late. He just hadn't come. He's probably still stuck in security, Ginny decided at last. That was a reasonably believable explanation.

Colin and Ginny were quietly discussing the things they had gone over in the debate and trying to keep up with Ruttledge in the hubbub of the Summit crowd while they made their way towards Conference Room I-20. Next, they were supposed to start talking about the boundaries between the work of the Department of Mysteries and the work of the Committee on Experimental Charms with some high-ranking Italians. Ginny hated talking about boundaries on the DM's work. It always turned into a giant bitch-fest about how the DM never told anybody anything. Well, boo hoo. If you can't handle it, you should have tried working for the DM in the first place so you would already_ know_ what they were working on.

Ruttledge had already disappeared ahead of them before they were even close to I-20. Ginny and Colin were still trying to figure out which way they were supposed to go next when a shrill voice suddenly sounded out not too far behind them.

"Miss Weasley! Mr. Creevey! Miss Weasley, I need to speak with you! It's urgent!"

Ginny and Colin turned to face whoever it was shouting at them through the crowd. The sight of Archie Croaker's lab assistant, Nadia Pratchett, startled Ginny. Ginny had known Nadia for years and she was very shy. There was very little that could force her to actually shout, especially in front of a huge crowd of people like this, so whatever she wanted Ginny and Colin for, it must be very serious indeed. Ginny grabbed hold of Colin's sleeve and dragged him through the waves of people towards Nadia.

"Miss Weasley—!"

"We're right here, Nadia," Ginny interrupted as she managed to get through. "What's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you, Ma'am. It's—We need to get somewhere where I can actually hear myself think, first. But I assure you, this needs your immediate attention!" Ginny could hear that Nadia's voice, not used to talking so much, so loudly, was beginning to crack. She relented and motioned that the young woman should follow as Ginny and Colin lead the way to a nearby bathroom.

As they went through the door of the nearest women's toilet, Colin slightly reluctant as an older blonde gave him a dirty look when she stepped out, Ginny shut the door firmly behind them. She turned back to the shy assistant. "So, what is it, Nadia? What's wrong?"

Ginny hadn't noticed before, but Nadia was panting terribly, as though she had run a long distance without a break. "It's about those chemicals, Ginny," she managed after a moment. "The ones you brought us, that Archibald was analyzing yesterday. We've been trying to figure out what someone would want with them. So this morning, Archie cross-referenced the chemicals in a muggle database to see what he might come up with." Nadia panted again and rubbed her sweaty forehead. "The response came up saying that the list was made up of constituents for trinitrotoluene and other similar mixtures."

Ginny blinked, confused. "Tri-ni-wha?"

Colin's brow, however, was furrowed in thought as though he was trying to remember something he had heard a long time ago. "Trinitrotoluene," he said quietly to himself. "Tri...Nitro… Wait a minute, isn't that the chemical name for TNT?" Nadia nodded frantically, while Ginny got even more confused.

"TNT? What the hell is TNT?"

"It's an explosive, Gin," Colin answered. "It's a very stable explosive that can easily be stored over long periods of time. An explosive that we have just found in the hands of Theodore Nott, a man with a lot of connections to a group of known terrorists and rebels of our government. A man with a lot of evil friends who have also been allegedly trading in illegal muggle goods and who, by the way, _aren't_ in jail."

"But what would terrorists want with..." Ginny started, but it didn't take long for the obvious answer to dawn on her. She froze and then pushed open the door to the loo to look out at the crowds of people pushing their way politely past each other in the corridor outside. There were hundreds, if not thousands of these people currently in the building, all trusting that their safety had been properly cared for by people like Ginny She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall at her back. "Oh, God. They're going to try and blow up the Summit building."

"We need to tell somebody," Colin said firmly. "Now. Where's the nearest security point?"

"Down four flights," Nadia replied instantly, "and a few hundred meters west."

"Well, what are we waiting for?!" Colin demanded, shoving open the door. "Come on! If these people find out that we know about it, they'll blow this whole place up before anyone has a chance to get out!"

Ginny and Nadia needed no further prompting. They hurried out after him and raced down the nearest set of stairs. Ginny quickly regretted the fact that she had chosen to wear heels that morning. She paused on the stairs and kicked her shoes off, leaving them where they lay as she continued running after Colin and Nadia.

The Ministry had, of course, considered the possibility of a bomb scare at the Summit. They had magical explosive detectors located throughout the building and the security was in place to stop potential terrorists from getting in. But if the bomber was someone who already had clearance to get in and they were using muggle chemicals as explosives, then they would not have set off any alarms, because there was no magic being used in the bomb. It would sadly be only too easy, Ginny realized furiously. They should have had dogs posted, doing rounds on a regular basis to try and sniff out anything suspicious. Something like that. SOMEBODY should have thought of that!

And today would also be the prime day to detonate any bombs that might be inside the building, too. Ginny felt like ripping her hair out. The British Minister for Magic, Wagman Shoal, was due to be present that afternoon, along with most of the local Heads, Deputies and JDs of Department, because he was supposed to make a speech about international friendship and cooperation for all of the foreign representatives who had come. That basically meant that everybody who meant anything at the Ministry was supposed to be there. And some unknown group of maniacs was trying to kill them all.

* * *

* * *

A/N: Enjoyed it? Hated it? Lemme know! That's what the little clicker button down there that says "Review" is for. Come on, you know you want to.Oh, I almost forgot--gold star to Leonidas for being a good chemistry student. :) 


	7. Eta

_Author's Notes: Sorry about the lateness of this chapter, but I kept getting distracted by this pesky little thing called 'reality'. It was a real bitch and I think something should be done about it immediately, but it's out of my power. But school will be out shortly, and I'll hopefully have a little more time to work on the fun stuff, so keep your fingers crossed for me. Disclaimer: I don't own the characters you recognize, the nice Scottish lady and her corporate allies do. I do own Melforth, Richards, Darcie, Dougie and whoever else from this chapter I'm forgetting, though._

_On another note, I have recently decided that, because I love reviews and the people who write them, I'm making a special tribute to everybody who has reviewed (and left their name):_ **threetoedsloth, Eversohuman, Shakespeare's Muse, wackyone, selenis, Lirimaer Elearie, Leonidas, Wembricken, Lila Elensar, Fondycheesehead, IsisRose and writergirl1505**_—you rock my world and I love you all! Mental gold stars and cookies for each of you. :)_

**

* * *

DRAMATIS PERSONAE  **

**Chapter 6**

**By Diocletian**

* * *

Hermione sighed discreetly and continued her half-hearted attempts at feigning interest in the conversation going on around her. It didn't strictly concern her, really, aside from the fact that she was supposed to be over-seeing it and taking notes about any progress that was being made, and her mind was elsewhere. Maybe it was because her pregnancy had her hormones completely out of whack, but she just couldn't seem to pay attention today. She was also more than a little distracted by the Albanian Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, who was in possession of a number of large chins which waggled furiously whenever he spoke and upon which there were three very unfortunately-shaped birthmarks. Trying to pretend that she hadn't noticed, she wondered idly what Ron was doing at that moment. 

She was in the middle of realizing that she should be the one trying to settle a dispute that had erupted between the Albanian, Bulgarian and English JD Heads of the DMGS when a blaring announcement suddenly sounded out of nowhere, echoing throughout the entire Summit building.

"_Attention please, honorable members and representatives of the International Confederation of Wizards. At this time, we grievously regret to inform you that we have just received news of a potential threat of explosives being located inside the building. We ask that you please waste no time in evacuating the building in a neat and orderly fashion and keep your ears open for any further announcements. This is not a drill, ladies and gentlemen. Repeat, this is NOT a drill. Please evacuate immediately and do not panic."_

Hermione didn't even hear the last part of the announcement because the room she was in had very quickly become loud with the sounds of people panicking.

She knew well enough to head immediately towards the door. She tried to be patient as the many other occupants of the room all tried to squeeze through the small space at the same time, but it didn't take very long for that fragile patience to break and force her feet to move her forward to try to break up the pack, simplifying the process of escape. They were unfortunately on one of the top floors of the building, and if they didn't at least try to be organized or sensible about things, then they would probably all kill each other before they managed to get outside.

As the crush of people surged outwards at the door, a few people still remained by the conference table, carefully gathering their files and forms and placing them back into their proper folders before they would leisurely make their way out. These were the ones who apparently believed so highly in the security the Ministry had set up that they thought the evacuation was only an extra precaution to be taken in a situation that was already completely under control. Most of them were anyway.

Two of them, however, stood almost imperceptibly away from the others. They spoke quietly to each other and were inaudible to anyone but themselves, thanks to the noise. Marcus Flint stretched slowly across the table to reach for a blue report folder, looking over at the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Darius Melforth furtively pulled something wrapped in a kerchief out of his case and handed it to Flint.

"Richards, Bethel and Weasley should all be in Conference Room K-9," he muttered. "Get to them before they get downstairs. We cannot have any witnesses. I do not think that I need to stress for you how very important it is that those three are dealt with quickly and with utmost discretion. We will not be lenient to a failure in this matter, Flint. You've got about ten minutes. This is the only warning you'll get about it. I hope it shall be the only warning you need."

Flint nodded and tucked the wrapped .45-caliber handgun Melforth had given him into the back of his waistband. He quickly finished gathering his things and joined the now-orderly throng heading out the door. Melforth waited for him to disappear before heading off himself.

First, Flint separated from the crowd, which was mostly congregated around the mid-floor staircase, and headed for the staircase at the end of the wing, going down two floors and then striding through some corridors, finding another staircase and heading back up in the direction of Level J. He knew, of course, that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement heads would by now have already departed from K-9, which was only on the floor above Level J, but if he was lucky and took the right staircase, he might run into them before they got more than a couple floors down as they tried to leave.

He ran over the floor plan layout in his head, figured out which staircase on this level would be the most convenient escape from Conference Room K-9, several floors above, and proceeded towards it. Checking behind his shoulder to make sure no one was watching him as they frantically scurried towards the nearest, easiest exit, he pushed open the stairwell door and went through. He immediately went to the railing to make sure that his targets weren't already below him, quickly retreating to avoid being seen, and breathed a sigh of relief. The nearest people were just as frantic as those in the hallway behind him had been and were not paying the slightest bit of attention to him as they drew further and further away.

Flint stood back from the railing as he heard a door being flung open somewhere above him and recognized the loud tone of Hank Richards's voice. He tapped the wall behind him with his wand, effectively locking the rest of the doors leading into this stairwell to prevent any unwanted witnesses. Then he waited patiently as he heard half a dozen pairs of feet shuffle down the stairs towards him while their owners spoke worriedly amongst themselves. As the first people came in sight, Flint drew his wand and aimed.

"Stupefy!"

Before most of them even realized that they were under attack, they were unconscious. Only three of the seven who had come down the stairs remained standing: Hank Richards, Darcie Bethel and a skinny blonde Auror whom Flint didn't know. Dougie Kibble, the Auror Flint hadn't recognized, had pushed Darcie and Hank behind him so they could head back up the stairs, but Flint raised his wand almost straight upwards and conjured a wall of green flames onto the steps directly above him. Now there was nowhere for them to go but through him.

Dougie's quick reflexes enabled him to shoot off two or three curses towards Flint, who easily dodged them, before Flint finally managed to stun him, too. But by this time Richards had managed to draw his own wand and pointed it at Flint. "Expelliarmus!"

Flint's wand flew from his hand and into Richards's, who pocketed it. "Now, see here young man! What the devil are you trying to do!" Behind his back, Flint pulled the gun Melforth had given him out from his waistband and flicked off the safety. "Don't you realize we have an emergency in progr—"

Flint whipped the gun out from behind his back and fired twice directly into the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's chest before he had a chance to finish his last sentence. Richards staggered backward from the force of the impact, the wand in his hand clattering onto the floor as Darcie's scream pierced the air. He stumbled slightly and fell to his knees. A red stain began to blossom on the front of his robes and he slid onto the floor, his eyes glazing over with death's blank stare before he even hit the ground. Flint turned slightly and aimed again.

Darcie stopped screaming when she saw the gun was now being focused on her, but she could not stop her loud, erratic panting. Her wand remained useless at her side. She would never have time to raise it and pronounce an entire curse without being shot. Flint, obviously knowing this, stepped threateningly towards her. "Drop the wand." She obeyed reluctantly. "Where's Weasley?"

"What?" She backed away slightly even though she knew there was no point to it. She had run out of options.

"Where is Ron Weasley?" Flint demanded again. His frustration was beginning to get the better of him and he stepped over the growing pool of crimson that was seeping down and across the stairs from Hank Richards's motionless body, and grabbed hold of Darcie's collar, pushing the gun against her ribcage. He glanced down at her wand for a second and then kicked it under the railing, turning back to Darcie as it tumbled down to the bottom of the staircase. "Weasley, woman! Dreadfully aggravating bloke with red hair and a shitload of brothers! Where the hell is he?"

Darcie glanced down at the hand that was forcefully pressing a gun into her abdomen. There, beside the joint of his right thumb, she saw it. Miniscule, but still visible if you knew what you were looking for. A tiny, cursive black 'Q'. The Questor Society was behind this whole affair. She should have known. Darcie looked back up and spat in Flint's face. "He's not here, you son of a bitch. I don't know where he is, but I'll bet it's far away from you!"

If Flint hadn't instinctively pulled the trigger at that moment, sending Darcie crumpling backwards onto the steps, he probably would have slapped her first.

He cursed under his breath. Weasley wasn't there. The Society was not going to like this. The entire mission turning into a failure because of the absence of a single man, a single man that Flint had assured them was going to be there. No sir, the Society wasn't going to like this one bit.

Flint bent down over Richards and withdrew his stolen wand from the man's pocket before straightening up and heading downwards. He stilled for a moment when he remembered that the unknown Auror had seen his face. It was not acceptable for him to be recognized, even on the off chance that the fellow would survive after Melforth set the bomb off. Flint turned around, pointed his wand at the man and muttered, "Obliviate." No need to waste bullets on a man who probably wouldn't live another five minutes anyway. He would be saving his next one for Weasley.

He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a shot glass wrapped in thick velvet. He cast the spell which unlocked the staircase doors and tucked the gun back into his pants before pulling the velvet off of the small portkey, touching his wand to it and disappearing.

* * *

As it was, Ron wasn't very far away at all. He had been trying to get through security when the warning had initially been given, and at that point he basically gave up any hope at all of getting in. So when the masses streamed outside by the dozens, he merely allowed himself to be pushed along with them as they tried to put some distance between themselves and the Summit building. 

As more and more people began to pour out, Ron was forced to wonder what was going on. He hadn't yet made it into the building when the announcement was made, after all, so he had been unable to hear it. He tapped a nearby Unspeakable on the shoulder.

"Hey, Huckins. What the hell's going on?"

Mario Huckins, a half-Italian man that Ron knew only because he worked in the same Department as Ginny, turned and gave him a look that Ron found vaguely reminiscent of what a person's face would look like if they saw you using live lobsters for earrings. Ron ignored it and put on his "Boss" face, which usually told people that it would be no problem for him to see that they never worked for any respectable organization ever again, so he'd better get the answers he was looking for—Now. Huckins gave in.

"They said there might be a bomb inside. They wanted to evacuate, 'just in case,' or something like that." He frowned. "They made the announcement about five times. Where have you been? Mars?"

Ron ignored him and began to push his way through the crowd. He was on the lookout for any Aurors or other DMLE reps that were supposed to be there, or maybe Ginny or Hermione. Even Colin would work. But there was no sign of them that he could see. No big surprise. By now there were a couple hundred people surging together in a limited space, dozens more joining the throng every minute. The chances of him finding one particular person in this mass were not good.

"Weasley!"

Then again.

"Weasley, I'm talking to you!" Only Ron's slightly panicked state kept him from rolling his eyes at the sound of his least-favourite Auror's prissy tone being directed at him in such a way. He turned and, again, he carefully scrutinized the surrounding crowd, this time for the face of Zacharias Smith. He was vaguely startled when Smith appeared to his left instead and firmly grabbed onto his shoulder, so as not to lose him in the crush.

"Smith! Where are Darcie and the rest?" he asked, loudly so that he could be heard over the pandemonium. Zacharias could only shrug. "What? Did you lose them? HOW?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, _Sir_, this place is currently in chaos. It would have been only too simple to lose them," Zacharias replied snarkily. "But for your information, I haven't seen them since before the damn warning was even given."

Ron glared at him accusingly. "Well, where were you? You're an Auror. You were supposed to be here to keep an eye on them."

Zacharias glared right back. "Don't you lecture me about duty! _I _had to piss, so I was in the john. Where were you? Because you sure as hell weren't where you were supposed to be."

Ron, already feeling miserable, exploded.

"You watch yourself, MISTER Smith, because I'm in a foul temper and the fact that YOU are the only person I can find in this godforsaken crowd is not helping! I am your superior and, as such, you will speak to me with the respect that position dictates. If this were any other day, or if I were Darcie or Hank, you would probably have been fired this very minute for insubordinate behavior. Another toe out of line and I'll do it myself, and don't you think for a bloody SECOND that I won't! So either smarten up, or you can find another line of work. Is that clear?"

Though originally startled by the display of backbone Ron was giving, the look Zacharias gave him as he tried to catch his breath could only have been described as lethal. But Ron didn't care. He was mad and confused and worried and he already felt as guilty as he would have if he had placed a bomb himself. He needed a release. And Smith was right there: Smarmy, weedy, annoying, sarcastic, intolerable Smith, who was always trying to get his goat, and who couldn't stand not getting the last word.

But finally, after glaring into Ron's equally furious eyes for almost a minute, Zacharias looked away. "Sorry, sir," he murmured. And for the first time that Ron could remember, there wasn't even a discernable trace of sarcasm in the blonde's voice.

"Accepted," he said. "Now let's go find the others."

* * *

Darius Melforth kneeled on the floor of the last stall of the men's bathroom that had been meant to service Conference Rooms C-1, C-2, and C-3. The toilet, which had been secretly disconnected from the plumbing pipes a week before, was never used. There was never any water in it, after all. But Melforth had entered the stall anyway. 

He pulled the cover off of the back of it and carefully extracted a large amount of home-prepared explosive from it. He set it on the floor beside him and got to work on setting the makeshift timer. When it was about as close to finished as it needed to be, Melforth glanced at his watch. It had been eleven and a half minutes since he'd seen Flint leave the unofficially adjourned Magical Games and Sports meeting.

Melforth pulled a tiny velvet-wrapped packet out of his pocket and set it on his knee. Then he pushed several small buttons on the timer until it displayed a blinking red, "00:10sec."

He checked the wiring on the detonator, the explosives and the timer one more time. Then he picked up the bomb, opened the stall door and set it down on the counter beside a sink. He gripped the velvet packet anxiously and pulled out his wand from his pocket. He tapped the timer three times. And all of a sudden—

00:09sec.

Melforth took a deep breath and pointed his wand at the detonator.

00:08sec.

"Expandimenta," he muttered.

00:07sec.

The tip of his wand glowed. Then the improvised TNT and detonator seemed to shimmer. And then the whole room filled with light for just a moment, a rapidly spreading light that sped through the entire Summit building, bulleting towards other bundles of explosives located discreetly around the building, causing them to shimmer brightly in unison with the one Melforth was looking at. The light that filled the entire building disappeared, but the numerous bombs scattered around it continued to glow.

00:06sec.

Melforth pulled the velvet off of the spoon-turned-portkey in his hand. He gripped it tightly, tapped it with his wand, felt an unpleasant tugging feeling at the back of his navel, and was gone. The timer clicked on.

00:05sec.

* * *

Hermione hated crowds. She hated evacuations even more. They always reminded her of that dreadful day back at Hogwarts when Voldemort had tried to lay siege to Hogsmeade and, by extension, the school. That had been horrible, but this day at the Summit was no better. Already, she had tried to get through to a staircase with a locked door, been pushed into a table which had bruised both her ribs and left knee, and then when she finally found a staircase that wasn't locked, she had been jostled so hard by an unidentified elbow that she had stumbled down half a dozen steps, twisting her ankle. 

So now she was being forced to slowly hobble down the stairs as other people practically raced by her. She was half-tempted to stick out a leg, tripping people, and then ask how they liked it. She clutched the railing tightly as she made her way down, trying to ignore the pushing and shoving of the crowd around her.

"Where's Ron being over-protective when you need him?" she mumbled, grimacing as somebody else knocked into her. Unable to help herself any longer, Hermione lashed out and, with her good foot, kicked the man in the ankle. The fellow either didn't notice or was too distracted to care and he continued down the stairs with the rest of the crowd, heedless of who he banged into.

Hermione scowled and kept going. But she had only gone down a few more steps when she was once again assailed with danger, this time taking the form of being narrowly missed by a rapidly opening door. She leapt backwards and tripped on the stairs behind her, yelping. "Bleeding hell," she heard someone mutter as she rubbed her sore backside. She glanced up at the people emerging from the door, who were looking concernedly right back at her. "Hermione?" she heard one of them ask. "What are you still doing here?"

"Ginny?" And indeed, Hermione's future sister-in-law was standing beside the open door with Colin and Nadia Something-or-Other the lab worker from the DM, staring at her worriedly. "I've been having a bit of trouble getting down the stairs. Why are you three here?"

"We were in the Security Office." Ginny stepped forward and extended her hand to help her, but did not elaborate. "Come on, 'Mione. We've got to get out of here. They're starting the bomb search in a couple minutes and they want the place completely evacuated by the time they start." She bent down and gave Hermione her hand and pulled her up to her feet. "We should have been long gone by now."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she said tensely. Ginny and the others went to hurry down the stairs, but it didn't take long before they noticed that Hermione was not keeping up. Colin had watched her struggle for a moment before he realized what had happened. He bounded back up the steps, causing Ginny to look back too. He then positioned himself under Hermione's left arm and, practically carrying her, helped her to quickly hobble down the stairs two at a time. Ginny gave them both a reassuring smile and scurried down beside them. After giving them all a brief glance from over her shoulder to make sure they were still coming, Nadia had disappeared into the crowd ahead.

After a few minutes of almost-silent struggling to get downstairs, Ginny tossed Colin a questioning look. "What level are we on?" she asked. "Are we almost out?"

"Almost," he replied. "We just passed the door to Level B. So, we've only got Level A left before we hit ground level." Ginny nodded and kept going, managing to make her way past Colin and Hermione and through a substantial part of the crush of panicking people.

When they saw the door leading off the staircase and out to the lobby, Hermione stared. She'd thought that the throng on the stairs was crowded, but it was nothing compared to this door. There must have been close to a hundred people trying to pack themselves into the space between the steps leading up to Level A and the ones leading down to Basement One alone. That was saying nothing of the rest of the crowd that surrounded the platform. It obviously wasn't meant to have that many people on it at one time and it was all Hermione could do to keep from yelling at everybody line up in an orderly fashion, though no one would have heard her if she tried.

Trying to keep calm, Hermione leaned against the railing to ease her aching ankle, releasing her tight hold on Colin, and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. There was no need to panic. They had plenty of time. People just have a tendency to become frightened when they hear things like the fact they are currently sharing a building with a bomb. But the security workers would have started searching for it by now, Hermione assured herself. They'll find it in no time.

Taking another deep breath, she relaxed and opened her eyes. The crowd hadn't shrunk noticeably, but people waiting on the steps were inching slowly forward, so that had to be a good sign. Ginny and Colin conversed quietly; something about someone named Croaker and muggle chemicals. Hermione was about to ask what they were talking about when something small, wet and warm landed on her face.

She reached her hand to her right cheek and gently rubbed the spot that had been hit by whatever it was. She looked at her hand intently as her fingertips came back stained with red. It was blood. But not hers.

All of a sudden the staircase was filled with a bright but silent flash of light, which disappeared as quickly as it had come. The crowd spun around wildly, wondering where it had come from and Hermione heard as Ginny muttered, "What the hell was that?"

Another drop of blood fell from above and landed on the back of Hermione's hand, which was still upheld near her face. She glanced up. She didn't see anything, just a small addition to the crowd joining right behind her, murmuring about the strange flare of light. Then she saw a small flash of something falling from high above her and another drop of crimson landed beside her shoe. She leaned out over the railing and looked straight up towards the staircases to the higher floors. "What on earth is..."

And then the world exploded around her.

* * *

Ron and Zacharias were still outside searching frantically for familiar faces when the first roar of fire erupted from the far side of the Summit building. 

The volume of the initial explosion was so intense that not even the frightened and hysterical screaming that broke out in the crowd they were immersed in, now about 2000 strong, could hope to compare with it. The windows that hadn't been shattered by the bomb blast itself were blown out instead by the noise, and people who hadn't gotten far enough away from the building in time were showered with cascading shards of glass.

But if anyone thought that the situation couldn't get worse, they were very quickly proven wrong. Within seconds, another explosion sounded on the other side of the building on one of the upper floors, and then another from the back and then a series a smaller ones across different levels near the front. More glass and debris rained down on bystanders, and the crowd ran further away, almost as one entity, a sea of faceless people whose only main similarity was that they all had the same goal in mind for the foreseeable future—to get as far away from the Summit building as they could.

Zacharias, however, couldn't move, even after Ron grabbed onto his sleeve and attempted to pull him along with him as the redhead stumbled defiantly through the terrified crowd and back towards the Summit building. The young Auror could barely feel the persistent tugging, could do nothing more than stare in horror as the smoke from the fireballs dissipated and the raging flames licked across the face of the building. More pleading shrieks and hollering could be heard from inside. "Oh my god," he said. "There are still people in there!"

"Yes, there are," Ron vehemently agreed. "And we're going to help get them out, so _COME ON_!"

Finally regaining control of his body, Zacharias followed Ron, noting that the explosions seemed to have stopped for the moment. The noise of the riot outside, of course, did not diminish, though some people appeared to finally be having the same thoughts as Ron and were starting to head back to the Summit building to help the survivors. And some could do nothing more than simply pray that there were still some left to be helped.

* * *

Ginny coughed roughly, choking on the thick smoke and dust that swirled through the air around her. She blinked furiously, trying to keep the tears and blood out of her eyes, and used her left arm to wipe at her forehead where a twisted piece of metal, probably part of the railing from the stairs a few stories above, had slashed open a wide gash across her skin. She twisted frantically, trying to free her right arm, which was screaming with pain, from underneath a large chunk of broken stone step. She let out a shrill cry when it finally came free and tried unsuccessfully to hold back any further tears of pain. 

She panted heavily in the dusty air as she struggled to stand, her right arm hanging uselessly by her side. Her knees seemed to have suffered more than she had originally guessed, however, and were fighting her attempts to straighten in every way conceivable. She gritted her teeth together and braced herself against the nearby wall, pulling herself forcefully onto her unsteady feet. Ginny held still for a few seconds, counting silently to herself with her eyes closed for ten seconds before she even tried to start walking.

She then placed one foot carefully in front of the other and began moving, trying not to think about how much effort she had to put into her actions just to keep herself from falling over. She stumbled clumsily about, not caring exactly where she was going as she searched helplessly for Colin and Hermione amidst the moaning, rubble and debris-covered crowd.

Spotting a patch of brown with blonde highlights not too far away on her left and praying to any deity that was listening that it was Colin's highly-recognizable mop of hair, Ginny pulled herself unsteadily through the many hunks of shattered stone and metal framework. Around her, a number of others were apparently doing the same thing, checking to see if their own friends and co-workers were hurt or trying to figure out how they were going to get the stairway door open again. Neither of which, the redhead noted despairingly to herself, appeared to be positive prospects. At least half of the crowd who had been trying to get off the stairs was still buried beneath tons of dangerous and twisted debris.

A sudden thought occurring to her, she frantically patted at the right pocket of her torn and bloody dress robes, feeling for her wand. She didn't think she had ever been quite so relieved in her life as she was when she realized it was still there, in one piece. Now, as she tried to use the sore and trembling fingers of her left hand to pull it out of her pocket, she began coughing again, tears continuing to stream down her face through the thick dirt that coated her cheeks.

She fell to her knees again, relinquishing her tentative grip on her wand so that it fell back into the safety of her pocket and brought her hand up to her face to try and hold back her hacking, choked coughing. She could see spots forming in front of her eyes, but there was nothing she could do about it except to try and get a hold of herself again.

Through the haze she now found herself sinking into, Ginny heard the rubble, over by where the door had been, begin to creak and groan under pressure. She closed her eyes for a few seconds in an attempt to clear them from the dust and tears and opened them again to see several of those who had managed, like she had, to burrow themselves out of the traps the debris had tried to pin them into gather at the door and begin to pry away the stone chunks in front of the opening.

'_I should go and help,'_ she thought to herself desperately. _'Or maybe I should keep trying to get to Colin and Hermione. I know that I should so SOMETHING, but it's so hard to get up, so hard keep moving, so hard to keep breathing in this place, this deathtrap. What happened?'_ Her wheezing breath was strained already and, as she tried to pull herself onto her feet again, her suffocating lungs failed her and she collapsed onto the uneven, stone-strewn floor.

* * *

_**A/N: I know, I'm terrible for ending it there. So, do please review. Even just a happy face will do, to let me know you're reading it, that's all I ask. Plus, you know, feedback gives me urges to update faster. winkwink Toodles!**_

_**Dio**_


	8. Theta

_A/N: I know it's a bit short, but I couldn't detach any parts from the next chapter. Trust me, it's much better this way. Besides, the next chapter is much longer and is full of great plot-ty material and I plan to add it within a week or so. I have decided to start rushing to post the chapters I have completed, in the hopes that HBP won't completely AU-ize my story, or at least that people will be able to have read most of it before it does. I'll keep writing even if it ruins the story, b/c I have a whole trilogy planned, but I'll be more enthusiastic the closer I can stay to canon. But anyway... whatever. _

_Special thanks to artdam, Actias luna, Val, FonsyCheesehead, IsisRose and IsabelA113 (from Schnoogle), who all reviewed Chapter 6. You guys rock my world!

* * *

_

**DRAMATIS PERSONAE**

**Chapter 7**

**_By Diocletian_

* * *

**

_August 24, 2005:_

Harry opened his eyes the next morning, paused for a moment as he remembered where he was, and quietly moaned in pain. He quickly pulled himself upright in the firm, rock-hard hospital chair he had fallen asleep in and tried to rub the feeling back into his neck and knees. Then he stood up, stretched uncomfortably and, stepping over the bodies of the dozens and dozens of other people who had also spent the night camped out in the cramped waiting room of St. Mungo's, went to the nearest bathroom.

Once he'd finished, he came back out and gracelessly dumped himself down onto his chair, now unmistakably awake. He glanced around and tried to identify several other people who were dozing nearby. They were all relatives of those who had been hurt and by figuring out who was in the waiting room, he'd be able to get a better idea of who had been injured in the bombing. The healers and other assorted hospital employees had been working non-stop since the day before to try and take care of the Summit victims, but they were only human beings. And the waiting room wasn't that big, even after they had made the Tea Room upstairs into an extension of the waiting area. After several incidents the day before, the welcome-witches, along with a few healers in training, had told everyone who was waiting that, if they were not directly related to any of the patients who were currently in St. Mungo's, they were being politely asked to leave.

Harry had only been allowed to stay because he was Harry Potter. He had told them that he was Hermione's brother, true, but anyone who read the papers knew it was a blatant, and frankly, very _bad_ lie. But when one has saved the wizarding world multiple times, it's amazing what one can get away with using their reputation for.

He shifted in his seat again. It really was a horrible chair, but aside from going home, there wasn't anywhere else he could go. Ginny, Colin and Hermione, last he had heard, were still in critical condition, so he couldn't visit them, and Ron had suffered several severe burns during the rescue operations. He had been treated and then given dream-less sleep potion to help him through the pain while his healer went to help someone else.

He didn't know what had happened to the others because they had all been unconscious when they had been brought in, but from what he had heard, they had been found with the group buried under the North wing stairwell and none of them had looked good.

Harry's gaze drifted to the other side of the room where Molly and Arthur Weasley were restlessly slumbering side by side. Fred and George and the others had wanted to come and wait with them, but Arthur had been very firm. He said that since there was nothing they could do by just sitting around and worrying, then they may as well sit around and worry in the comfort of their own homes or at the Burrow and wait for an owl from Harry so that someone else could have their seats at the hospital.

At this point, other people were beginning to stir and wake up around the room. Harry saw two welcome-witches start to walk around and offer free cups of coffee or juice to people, speaking quietly so as not to disturb those who were still sleeping and trying to soothe those who were, now that they were conscious once more, again becoming frantic to find out what had happened to their loved ones.

After a few minutes and a welcome cup of coffee, Harry's attention was drawn to a short, rather portly man in Healer's robes who had carefully entered the room and was talking to one of the welcome-witches. After conversing quietly for a moment, the witch nodded and left the room and the Healer got a chair from behind her desk. He stood up on top of it and pointed his wand to his throat. He muttered, "Sonorus," under his breath and then spoke to the room at large.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," he greeted, waving his arms for attention so that everyone would know where the magically magnified voice was coming from. When he saw that everyone was now watching him, he coughed quietly and continued. "Good morning. I'm sure you are all very anxious to get information about the condition of your relatives. We're very sorry for not being available to help you earlier. We understand your frustration and impatience, but you must understand that we have had to take care of a phenomenal number of people in the past day and we are still in the process of helping those who remain in danger. We have simply been too busy to answer any questions."

He cleared his throat nosily and went on. "I'm glad to say that we now have the current condition of most of those who were hurt in yesterday's tragedy on file. Sadly, we were unable to help many of them, but there are also quite a few who only received minor injuries and who will be leaving today. This is so that they can heal at home instead, to free up space here at the hospital for those who need it most. The most recent list of those who were killed," he paused to sniff dryly, "will be posted in a few minutes. Our deepest condolences go out to anyone who has lost..."

He had to stop there to clear his throat again and rub his eyes. Said eyes were bloodshot, ringed with purple and had bags underneath them. The Healer was blinking more than was strictly necessary and his voice was starting to sound ragged. He was obviously exhausted and had seen more in the past 17 hours than anyone should have to see in a lifetime. Harry wondered briefly if the Healer knew anybody whose name was on the list and felt a pang of sympathy go out to the man, though he could barely feel it through the fear and panic he was feeling about the wellbeing of his own friends.

But after a moment the Healer managed to speak again. "Anybody who is ready to go home should leave as soon as they can. If your relatives are in this category, we would appreciate it if you would go up to their rooms and fetch them as quickly as possible and then come downstairs to let us know you are checking out." He paused and added, "We'll be giving out copies of today's 'Daily Prophet' for you all to read while you wait for news. Thank you for your attention and your patience."

The man quickly retreated back into the main part of the hospital, making sure to shut the door behind him. Harry could hardly blame him. The crowd in the waiting room wasted no time in lining up in front of the welcome-witches' desks. One young woman sat down just as the one who had left before, when the Healer arrived, returned. Most of the room went silent as they saw that she had some sort of list in her hands. The witch, whom Harry thought vaguely looked quite a bit like Pansy Parkinson from Slytherin back during school, had tears running down her face. She made a feeble attempt to wipe them away as she turned away from the waiting crowd and posted the list on the wall before retreating behind her desk at the front of the room and burying her face in her hands while her shoulders shook.

Weeks later, Harry recalled that moment as being the first time he fully realized the magnitude of what had happened. Looking over at that list, seeing the words _"As of 7:00 am, August 24, 2005"_ written at the top and then realizing that it was more than half a dozen pages long. Each page had 40 names written on it and it was at least seven or eight pages thick. And they hadn't even identified all of the bodies yet.

Harry noticed vaguely that someone had gone over and taken the list down from the wall. He listened in a dream-like state as whoever it was began reading the names out to the whole room in a rather strained-sounding voice. Most of them were foreign names, probably some of the international delegates, but there were far too many that Harry did recognize. People he'd worked with for years, even a few he'd known distantly in school. He had to force himself to tune out most of what the voice was saying, to try not to pay attention.

But even though he was barely listening except in terrified expectation for the names of his friends, Harry caught Hank Richards's name in there somewhere. He wondered fleetingly, in an absent sort of way, if Darcie Bethel was going to be the new Head of the DMLE.

The list took almost twenty minutes to read and when it was finished, the fellow who was reading it didn't look like he'd be able to speak out loud again for some time. Someone went to fetch the man a glass of water while he replaced the list on the wall with trembling hands. Several people began to cry.

Fortunately, none of Harry's close friends had been on it. He was listening for their names, but they didn't come. Knowing he would feel despicable about it later even before he did it, he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. He knew he should feel guilty that he could be relieved while others had just had their worlds torn out from under them, but he didn't. He was too numb to feel much of anything aside from the overpowering relief.

Dazed, he looked around the room and saw Mrs. Weasley sobbing into Mr. Weasley's shoulder. And he knew, somehow, that despite her tears, she too was feeling nothing but the relief.

* * *

_A/N: Reviews are like cookies. So, don't forget to feed the author! I'll update soon (a week, two at the most), I promise!_


	9. Iota

A/N: Happy birthday to me! ahem Anyway… This one's dedicated to IsabelA113 and apocalypticpenguin, from Schnoogle, because I enjoyed the wibbles. Oh, and on a couple of additional notes, (1) Ginny knows how to drive because her bestest buddy Colin taught her how. She does not, however, have a license :P. (2) They couldn't do spells to, like, enlarge doorways at the Summit because the building itself was magic-resistant. And (3) the situation described in this chapter, with Percy and Charlie and whatnot, is actually narrated in "Similitude", another story I've started working on. Just in case you're interested. 

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DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Chapter 8 

By Diocletian 

* * *

Zacharias closed his eyes, rubbed a bandaged hand over them a few times while counting to ten and opened them again. He blinked a few times, just to get back into focus, then re-read the letter he had in his hand.

'What kind of mood-swinging maniac wrote this?' Zacharias wondered, wide-eyed. Then his brow furrowed as a new thought occurred to him. 'Ron isn't going to like this. Not one bit. Why am I the one who always has to deliver stuff he's not going to like?'

He had never met the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, the person who had written the bizarre letter he held in his hands, but her assistant Anthony had been at Hogwarts with him. When Anthony had spotted Zacharias in the Atrium that morning, he'd made a beeline straight towards him and asked if Zacharias was stopping by St. Mungo's.

Zacharias had hesitated. He had actually been planning on it, mainly to see if Weasley was alright, though he'd never admit that that was the reason. After a minute, he reluctantly admitted where he was going. Anthony had given a sigh of relief, passed him the letter and then told him to give it to Ron as soon as humanly possible.

"And don't let anybody read this message," Zacharias recalled him adding. "This is top-secret information, this is."

Zacharias had waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, Tony. I'll keep your message safe. Now, you go back to your business, you have better things to be doing than playing postman." Anthony had nodded in an exhausted sort of thanks and scurried away. The blonde had waited until he was out of sight before he tore open the seal on the message, pulled it out and skimmed the contents.

He shook his head in disbelief one final time, stuffed the letter into his pocket and joined the line-up for the floo fireplaces.

When he finally reached St. Mungo's a few minutes later, he wasn't pleased to find that the waiting area he arrived in didn't seem any less crowded than it had been the night before, when he'd come in because of the second degree burns he'd gotten across his hands and forearms. Though now a lot more people were wearing bandages and such, he noted, and fewer were bleeding all over the floor. That had to be an improvement.

"Smith!" A voice called out to him from across the room. Before Zacharias realized who was yelling at him, a hand clamped lightly onto his left forearm. Harry Potter used the grip he had on him to pull himself past several members of the crowd and stand beside him. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Zacharias wrinkled his nose and shrugged Potter's hand off of his arm. "Looking for Weasley," he replied. "I'm being used as a bloody owl again."

Ignoring his fellow Auror's irritation, Harry raised an eyebrow. "Which one are you trying to find? Ron or Ginny?"

Opening his mouth to send out a snarky retort, Zacharias paused for a second. "Ginny?" He didn't know Ginny had been hurt. _Oh, what the hell,_ he thought. _We work together sometimes; I'm allowed to be curious. I may as well ask_. "How is she doing? Was she badly hurt?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, kind of. The healers said she'd be fine in a day or two, as long as she isn't straining herself or anything. She still hasn't woken up, though." He sighed and rubbed at his temples. "She had a broken arm, a couple nasty scrapes and burns. Concussion and smoke inhalation. Her parents took her to the Burrow to recuperate, free up a bed for someone else here."

Zacharias nodded. "That's good. So, uh, is Ron okay?" he asked after a few minutes. "Did they take him home, too?"

Harry rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "If only," he muttered. "No. No, Ron's fine now, but he wouldn't go home. He's camped out by the door of Hermione's room. She..." Harry paused and closed his eyes while he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Hermione took a pretty bad beating in the explosion. Colin Creevey tried to shield her, or so I'm told, but with her being pregnant and all..." He trailed off again before quietly adding, "Neither she or Colin are doing very well."

Zacharias's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Harry dragged his fellow Auror over to a pair of extra chairs and sat down. He leaned forward and replied quietly. "Colin's spine is broken. His head was nearly crushed and one of his numerous broken ribs punctured his left lung. He's in critical condition." He closed his eyes and brought a hand up once again to massage his temple. "The Healers say they're not sure if he's going to make it. But even if he does, he'll be crippled for the rest of his life." His eyes opened again and he shook his head desperately. "God, I don't know how we're going to break this to Ginny."

Zacharias sat silently for a while, allowing this information to sink in. Colin Creevey had always been...well, an oddity, certainly, but a friendly one. Before they had been in the DA together, Zacharias had always thought of him as just another younger, annoying Gryffindor, but a good-natured one at least. It was difficult to even contemplate that the miniscule young man might be dying. It just didn't seem possible. His personality seemed too bright and lively for it to come to such an abrupt, untimely halt.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'He'll be okay,' Zacharias told himself. 'He has to be. He wouldn't be the Colin Creevey I know and am frequently irritated by if he didn't bounce back from something like this.' He opened his eyes and focused once more on Harry. "And what about Granger?" he asked after a few moments. "How's she?"

* * *

Ron was staring unseeingly at the blank white wall of the corridor when Harry went to check on him some time later. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, foregoing any of the more comfortable chairs that were sparsely lining the hallway. He had his legs crossed underneath him and his arms were propped up on his knees, but he didn't so much as glance over when Harry came closer and sat down slowly beside him. 

Both of the young men remained silent for a couple of minutes, staring at the wall, before Harry let out a sigh. "Is she going to be alright?" he asked at last.

Ron finally tore his eyes away from the wall and looked over at his best friend. Harry could see the swollen red rims and tell-tale moistness to his eyes that betrayed the fact that Ron had been crying. But he didn't comment on it. He knew that it wasn't something Ron would want to talk about.

The redhead cleared his throat several times, but even so his voice still came out sounding scratchy and hoarse. "Yeah," he replied quietly. "Hermione will be okay. With time. She can't go to work for a while and I'm supposed to do everything I can to keep her relaxed and healthy when she's allowed to go home..." He suppressed an anxious gulp and closed his eyes tightly, as though trying to fight a thought out of his head. He clenched his right hand into a fist and banged it softly against the tile floor.

Had Harry not been listening so intently, he would have completely missed the next words that were forced out of his friend's mouth. "She lost the baby, Harry..."

Harry closed his eyes and tilted his head away, rubbing his forehead with the flat of his clenched hand. He heard Ron take a deep, shuddering breath before attempting to continue. "The Healer who was talking to me said that there was nothing they could have done to save it. It was already a lost cause before Hermione even arrived here. But they..." he took another deep breath, visibly calming himself down. "They said they were able to help 'Mione. They tell me that she should still be able to have children... That they managed to fix her up all good and proper."

Hearing the tremble in his oldest friend's voice, Harry opened his eyes and looked at him. The look of helplessness on Ron's face nearly broke his heart. It was the look of a man who desperately wants to do something about the situation, to fix it, to make it right again, but knows that there's nothing he can do. Harry put an arm around his shoulder. "Ron..."

Within seconds, almost too fast for either man to really process what they were doing, Ron was pressed against Harry's shoulder, his hands convulsively clutching his friend's shirt sleeve as he struggled not to let out what he was really feeling while Harry had wrapped both of his arms around the trembling redhead. He was very disturbed to see Ron so distraught, because he remembered the only previous time he had ever seen Ron in this kind of state.

It had been when Ron's brother Charlie was killed during Christmas vacation in the boys' seventh year at school. It had been a complicated situation and during the fight that had resulted in Charlie's death, Percy had finally revealed that his true loyalties lay not with his family, or even (to much surprise) with the Ministry, but with the power he had been promised by Lord Voldemort.

Ron, who had hesitantly reconciled with Percy the previous summer, and had been writing to him occasionally, blamed himself for leading Percy to them, for Charlie's death and for the pain everybody had suffered as a result of it. After struggling with the overwhelming guilt for weeks and failing in his attempts to handle it, it had caused him to leave school for almost four months.

He had returned just before the end of the school-year because he knew the final battle between Harry and Voldemort was fast approaching now that Harry would no longer be returning to the protection of the Dursleys' house. He had wanted to spend time with Harry, Hermione and everyone else before that happened—"just in case." He had very nearly missed being allowed to take his NEWTs and even then, it was only because Hermione had insisted on copying her notes and owling them to where he was staying in France every week that he had managed to pass.

Harry didn't want to see something like that happen again. The situation with Percy had torn Ron to bits, and Hermione was going to need his support now. "It'll be okay, mate," Harry told him gently. "I'll stick around so you don't get left alone and then you'll see Hermione before you know it. Alright?" Ron sniffed quietly and nodded, pulling away.

He closed his eyes, took a few more deep breaths and sighed. Then he opened his eyes and glanced back over at Harry, taking in the rustled, slightly damp state of his shirt and wrinkling his nose in self-disgust. "I'm sorry for blubbering all over you, man," he said.

Harry smiled and waved his hand dismissively. He was right. Ron would be okay, with time. Things were going to work out fine.

He stretched his arms out above his head and felt paper crinkle in his pants pocket. He reached into it and pulled out a bent and folded envelope. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot," he said, brow furrowing slightly as he handed over the letter. "Smith stopped by. Said the Ministry sent this for you to read. ASAP."

Ron read his name on the front, flipped it over and saw the broken seal. "Did you read this?" he asked. Harry shook his head. Ron sighed, mildly exasperated. "That Smith's a nosy bastard, isn't he?" He pulled the letter out of the envelope. "He's always got to know everything, for the sole purpose of rubbing it in other people's faces." Harry shrugged noncommittally and Ron scanned the first few lines of his letter. He frowned suddenly and re-read them before continuing through the rest of the message.

After reading it twice more, he set it down and ran a hand through his tangled red hair. "Bloody hell," he muttered to himself.

"What is it?" Harry asked curiously.

Ron shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Darcie and Richards are dead."

Harry's eyes widened. "What, both of them? Are you serious?" Ron nodded, still mildly dumbfounded. "Well then, who's in charge of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now?"

A funny look crossed Ron's face and he tucked his letter slowly back into its envelope. "I am."

"WHAT?"

Ron shook his head bemusedly. "I've just been promoted to Head of the Department."

"Didn't you once say that you would rather be slowly flogged to death with pink and purple shoelaces than become a Head of Department?"

"Yes. Probably more than once."

Harry snatched the envelope out of Ron's hands and tore the letter out of it. His eyes hurriedly scanned the message within, while Ron stood up and walked over to the window at the end of the hall, checking to make sure there weren't any pigs flying by.

* * *

_August 24, 2005_

_Ronald B. Weasley  
__547 Maybury Hill Road  
__Brighton, East Sussex_

_Dear Mr. Weasley,_

_We regret to inform you that your co-workers, Mr. Hank Z. Richards and Ms. Darcie Bethel of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, were both killed in yesterday's tragedy. We are very sorry for your loss, but with Mr. Richards and Ms. Bethel's passing, you are now the senior-most person currently working in your department. _

_By order of the Minister for Magic, the Honourable Wagman Shoal, you are to be officially appointed as the new Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as of 2 p.m. today, unless you or a family member can provide reasonable grounds for us to proceed differently. Please respond ASAP with your reply and report personally to Minister Shoal's office at your earliest convenience._

_Congratulations!_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mildred Morraine  
__Junior Undersecretary to the Minister

* * *

_

Harry goggled for a few moments before shaking his head in mild disbelief. He passed the scrap of paper back to Ron, who stuffed it carelessly into his back pocket and sat back down. "That letter was messed up," he said after a while. "Who starts a letter with _'we regret to inform you,'_ and ends it with _'congratulations'_?"

"No one's ever accused any of the Ministry Undersecretaries of being normal," Ron countered absently. "Remember that Umbitch woman? She was a right peach, that one. She sent Dementors after her targets. I suppose I'm lucky all they had in store for me was a promotion."

Harry raised an eyebrow concernedly. "You okay, Ron? You seem a bit...off." Harry trailed off, but gave his friend a questioning look. Ron sighed.

"I'm fine. Just wondering if my laziness yesterday morning saved my life or not."

Though it seemed to be nothing more than a casual comment with no apparent deeper meaning at the time it was spoken, in days to come both young men would hear that phrase replay in their heads over and over again, and would wonder at the secret truth it may have held. But at that particular moment in time, Ron was busying tapping his fingernails against the linoleum on the floor. "Hermione won't be awake for at least a few hours," he said at last. "I should go send an owl to Shoal, ask if _'I really don't wanna,'_ counts as a reasonable excuse."

Ron pulled himself up off the floor again. He paused and sent Harry an imploring look. "Could you by any chance look in on Colin for me? The Healers said he helped save Hermione's life, trying to shield her and all." He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "I heard that he wasn't doing very well. Could you just drop in, check on him?"

Harry nodded. "'Course. Besides if Ginny found out I didn't, she'd have my head on a pike in about four seconds flat." Ron smiled slightly.

"That is true. Have you heard if she's been awake yet?" he asked. Harry shook his head.

"Dunno."

Ron sighed again. "Oh, well. She'll be okay. She's too fucking stubborn not to be."

* * *

_August 25, 2005:_

The morning sunlight streamed through the window into Ron's home office, settling gently, and unnoticed, against the wood-paneled wall. The redhead himself ignored the intrusion and guzzled another cup of lukewarm coffee before continuing to immerse himself in the files and papers on his desk. He had been at it all night, going over these reports from work. He couldn't sleep and his—he held back a shudder—_new job_ came with a LOT new responsibilities. And this was not an easy time to be in charge of the DMLE. Aside from the routine, everyday incidents that were considered normal for the Department, they were also leading an investigation into the cause and/or perpetrators of the Summit bombing. Then there were the victims, families of the victims, and the—oh, God—ambassadors' home countries, who were all demanding compensation and some kind of an explanation. Ron was now in charge of dealing with all of these problems, not to mention the mountain of paperwork that went with them.

And then, of course, there were the employee records. Ron couldn't forget about looking through those. Now that Richards and Darcie were dead and he was in charge, albeit reluctantly, the positions of Junior and Senior Deputy Heads of the Department were open and had to be filled immediately. Ron was not looking forward to it. Minister Shoal, looking extremely harassed when Ron had gone to see him the day before, had had his hands full with trying to prevent an international incident from occurring. He had told Ron that he "didn't give a flaming shite" who he hired as long as they knew _something_ about Defence Against the Dark Arts and Magical Law and they were willing to start NOW.

Ron had a vague idea for the Junior Deputy, but he was lost on figuring out a candidate for the Senior, and he had been through just about every employee file in the DMLE. Nobody had enough management experience—hell, HE barely had any and now he was in charge, for Merlin's sake. The guy he had in mind for JD, a well-connected fellow named Francis Xavier, who had been Head Boy during Ron's fourth year at school, had some knowledge about the whole thing, but not so much in administration. What Ron was looking for was someone like...like...like _Lupin_ or something. Someone who didn't need an atlas to find his own arse amidst a wad of paperwork, but who still understood how the law was supposed to work throughout it all and who was willing to leave the post they were currently at.

_Maybe I can ship someone out and ask Lupin to train them for a couple of weeks,_ he thought. _He'd teach them to do it properly. Lupin's good at that sort of thing_.

Ron paused for a moment before the idea that had been swimming right in front of his face finally succeeded in smacking him upside the head. He practically launched himself out of his seat and at his bookshelf, skimming over the titles of a series of very thick tomes near the bottom.

Finding the one he was looking for, Ron haltingly managed to pull it out from the shelf. He hefted it painfully onto his knee before he was able to get a firm enough grip on it to hold it up on its own. The gold-gilt title along the spine glittered in the early morning light, reading _"An Encyclopedic Study of Magical Law (By Topic): T-W"_. He carried it a few feet and dropped it loudly on top of his desk. It sent many of the sheets that had previously been scattered upon the dark wood surface spinning madly to the floor, but Ron paid them little mind.

He flipped the book open and began tearing through the pages to find the entry he was looking for. "Time-travelling," he muttered to himself, continuing to flop dozens of pages over at a time. "Under-aged wizardry, Vampires, Voodoo—Aha! Werewolves."

He placed his finger down on the page and ran it downwards slowly. "Not permitted to give birth to or sire children... keep restrained and/or under influence of Wolfsbane potion on days of full moon... cannot be employed in a regular part-time or full-time position _unless_ employer is fully aware of the victim's affliction, and restrictions that said affliction implies."

Ron tapped the last sentence and bit his lip while he thought it over. After a while, he got up and went into the kitchen to pour himself another cup of coffee.

Ron was halfway through it before he made up his mind. He glanced at the clock on the wall and finished his coffee before heading to the bathroom to take a shower. _It_'_s high time_, he thought to himself, _that I paid a visit to my favourite former DADA professor.

* * *

_

A/N: Yeh! See, I can keep my word about updating on time when I'm really trying, even when my laptop craps out on me and I have to use another computer. That is what you call dedication. Anyhow, I'll update soon, and please: review, Review, REVIEW! 


	10. Kappa

_A/N: I apologize for the long wait. I have been having roommate issues (well, not the roommate herself, but her friends are loud and intrusive during study-time). And this one's kind of short. I realize and apologize again, but I like where I ended it. The next couple of sections after this chapter are more cheerful, so it didn't seem right to try and add it onto the end of this one, which is angsty. __Anyhow, yes, I have read HBP (I finished it at about noon the day it came out) and yes, I absolutely loved it. Unfortunately, NO, the story is not yet HBP-compliant, per se, but nothing important seems to have been affected, so I might go back and fix the details so that it can BECOME compliant. In any case, a warning from this point onwards: there WILL be spoilers. Probably serious ones, of the "who-died-and-who-killed-him/her" variety. So beware. Now READ, Read as you have Never Read Before!_

* * *

**Dramatis Personae**

**Chapter 9**

**By Diocletian**

* * *

Ginny leaned back in her uncomfortable chair, gazing desperately upon her unconscious best friend. He hadn't stirred even slightly since she had arrived. She rubbed her sore, still-burnt right arm through the cotton sling holding it up and the thick orange-tinged gauze wrapped around it. She had another rather similar gauze patch taped to the side of her face and forehead. Colin, Ginny could see, was also wearing a number of the burn-treating bandages. 

She leaned forward again and took Colin's left hand in hers. She placed a gentle kiss on his head and then another on the hand she held. She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes, holding back the sudden tears she could feel coming. She took a deep breath before she was willing to open her eyes again.

She pushed a few strands of Colin's mixed blonde hair behind his ear. "Hey doll," she said at last. "I know you probably can't hear me, what with your brain trying to fix itself after that nasty concussion you got, but I'm going to stay for a chat anyway. I know that when you wake up you're probably going to make fun of me for being such an emotional sop, but it makes me feel better, so the hell with what you think."

She took another deep, level breath. "So, you're probably wondering what's going on, huh? I don't blame you. Things are pretty hectic at the moment. The only reason I'm not being ordered to go to work as we speak is because the Healers have refused to let the Ministry order anybody into work today who's been treated for any injuries received at the Summit bombing. Shoal's getting desperate, too. They're trying to make sure every single Ministry worker who's still... available..." she cleared her throat uncomfortably, "is going to work. We're kind of short-handed at the moment. We...we lost a lot of good people, Col. And we still don't really understand what happened."

Ginny chuckled darkly to herself. "Well, I mean, we understand the fact that somebody set a bunch of bombs and then they blew up and a couple hundred people were killed. But they don't know who did it, or why. Not yet anyway." She sighed and stroked Colin's cheek. "They're working on it. I'm going in tomorrow to help, because they need people like you and me helping out. Mum's violently opposed to me going back in so soon, but you know Mum."

Ginny glanced down at the hand that lay so limply within her grasp. Her gaze traveled unwillingly to the thick, sterile bandages around her best friend's head, and then to the indentations in his sheets, which she knew, though she couldn't see it, was the body brace he was laying in. She gulped back the sob she could feel forming in her throat, but she was unable to stop the tears that trickled down her cheeks. Her hand remained firmly clenched around Colin's. Her shoulders shook silently as she struggled to hold her feelings in.

A couple of minutes later, after she had gotten a hold of herself, Ginny heard a soft knock on the door. She stood quietly and turned around to meet Dennis Creevey's rather shiny-looking eyes. He lingered in the doorway and attempted to smile encouragingly while she tried to dry her eyes, but both of their efforts came up somewhat lacking. Dennis stepped into the room and reached to give Ginny a tight hug, which she readily returned.

"Dougie's here," Dennis said after a while. "They just released him. He must have took a nasty blow to the head or something like that because he doesn't remember anything about the explosion, but apart from that he's okay. He's waiting outside. He didn't want to interrupt you." Ginny nodded in understanding.

"That's sweet of him."

Dennis gnawed thoughtfully on his lip. "Yeah." He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "So, how's Col doing? Any improvement?" Ginny shook her head, still trying to discreetly wipe her eyes.

"No." Dennis frowned and nodded grimly.

"Okay," he replied. He shifted uneasily back on forth on the balls of his feet. "You almost done, Ginny-Bean? Only I think Dougie wants a bit of privacy. Of course, if you want more time, he said he doesn't mind waiting some more—"

Ginny shook her head quickly and, diverting her eyes away from Colin, picked her cloak up off the back of her God-awful chair. She shoved it haphazardly into her over-sized shoulder bag, because it was still as hot as the dickens outside and she knew she wouldn't be using it.

"It's fine," she said. "I was planning to go see Hermione in a bit anyway. See how she's doing." Dennis nodded in understanding and walked with her to the door. Ginny saw Dougie look up at them as they came out and she attempted to give him a small smile. She knew her effort had failed badly and felt slightly sorry for that because, if anyone looked as miserable as Ginny felt at that moment, it was Douglas Kibble.

"Hey Ginny," he greeted, his tone soft and hesitant.

She put a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment, in an effort to give him some support. He patted her hand gently and then pulled away and proceeded into Colin's room. When the door quietly clicked closed behind him, Ginny brought her hand up to her face.

She felt the tears come again, coursing down her face, felt when Dennis wrapped an arm around her. She felt the slight tremor from him as he held back a quiet sob of his own. After a few moments, during which she tried once more to pull herself together, she turned around to face her best friend's only brother and pulled him into her. Despite the fact that he normally towered over her, Dennis managed to bury his face in the side of her neck, while she, her cheeks still damp, stroked his hair soothingly.

"We're going to find whoever did this," she promised brokenly. "And Dennis, I swear that we'll make them pay for it."

* * *

Hermione stirred slightly when Ron sat down beside her on the hospital bed. He brushed a few loose strands of hair off of her forehead and kissed her gently. Her eyes drifted open and he smiled softly. She didn't smile back. 

Her eyes were blood-stained and red-rimmed, and when she focused on him, her face crumbled and she looked away from him. It took Ron a minute, but then he realized that the healers must have already told her about the baby. He took hold of her chin and slowly brought her reluctant face back in his direction.

"Mione, it's okay. I know about the baby. I was going to tell you today, now that you're coherent again, but I guess some healer beat me to it." A few tears slipped down her face and she closed her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Ron," she whispered. "I know how much you want children." Ron's brow furrowed and he frowned.

He pulled her close and carefully wrapped his arms around her. "No, no, no, love. Don't be sorry. This is NOT your fault. There's nothing you could have done, you didn't know some fuckwit was going to play muggle terrorist on us." He kissed her forehead and rocked her trembling frame gently.

"Baby, don't you dare blame yourself for this. I mean, sure, I want kids—someday. It doesn't have to be now. The most important thing to me about having children was that it would be with you."

Hermione buried her face in Ron's shoulder, sobbing quietly. "I love you," he murmured in her hair. "I'm right here and I love you and I will always be here whenever you need me."

She continued to cling to him for another few minutes, teeth clenched, just trying to let out all of her sadness and anger at the world. His shoulder was more than a bit damp and when she finally raised herself away from him, Hermione grimaced in mild disgust at herself and grabbed a tissue off of her bedside table and made an attempt to dry off his shirt. She was still crying as she did this because Ron could see the tears continuing their trek down her face, but she was silent, shuddering slightly once in a while, but giving no other outward signs of her continued inner turmoil.

He kept one arm around her and stroked her back. "You are allowed to be upset, Hermione. You're allowed to be furious and heartbroken and as vengeful as you like." He ran his fingers gently through her hair. "I know that I, for one, plan to find these fuckers and kill them dead. A hundred times over, slowly and painfully."

She nodded and kissed him chastely, again not meeting his eyes. "You do that. And if there's any possible way from you to arrange it, let me know when it's going to happen so that I can watch."

Before Ron could reply to the ferocity in her voice, there was a knock on the door. One of the many nameless Healers who had been fluttering busily around the hospital for the past two days poked his head inside.

"Hello, Miss Granger. How are we feeling this afternoon, hmm?"

Hermione wiped her eyes and nose with another tissue from her bedside table and hiccupped. "I feel less like a Mack truck just ran directly over my head than I did earlier today."

The Healer nodded and scribbled something on the clipboard he was carrying while Ron wondered vaguely what a Mack truck was. "Well, if it's okay with you, Miss, I'd like to perform a follow-up physical exam to check and make sure everything is still fixed up properly and whatnot."

Hermione nodded her head once in assent and leaned back into her pillows. The Healer examined his clipboard again before realizing that Ron was still there. He turned and regarded him quizzically. "Excuse me, Mr..."

"Weasley. I'm Hermione's fiancé."

"Ah." The tone in his voice made Ron's brow furrow and he attempted to more closely examine the wizard's face while trying not to look like he was doing it. However, he was only able to hold his gaze for a few moments before he was forced to look away. The disapproving look on the older man's face made it quite clear that he could tell who had fathered Hermione's illegitimate, unborn child. Ron squirmed uncomfortably.

"Well, Mr. Weasley," the Healer continued after a moment, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave for the duration of the examination. It's somewhat intrusive and it can make the patient uncomfortable when someone else is here during this kind of procedure, even if it is someone they trust. It also takes a while and Miss Granger will probably fall asleep soon afterwards, so perhaps you have something else that you need to be doing at this time, at home or maybe at work?"

The look the Healer gave him was probably the most condescending look anyone had given him in nearly ten years. It irritated Ron that this complete stranger believed that he could get away with treating him like a child and he bristled mentally.

However, loathe as he was to admit it, Ron did have rather important business he had to attend to. He hadn't made it to Lupin's yet, and it was rather urgent for him to attend to the whole Deputy issue. The Department had forwarded three owls to him so far today, carrying several messages each from the Heads of other departments and from Minister Shoal. He had to employ a Senior Deputy NOW, and then he had to settle himself down into his shiny new office at the Ministry until they could figure out just what the hell had happened to cause the Summit bombing.

Still unwilling to tell the rude Healer that he was right, Ron ignored him and leaned down to kiss Hermione on the forehead. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he murmured against her skin. She only nodded, no emotion showing in her eyes.

"Alright."

Despairing at how cold she was acting, Ron tucked a lock of curly hair behind her ear. "I love you," he said after a while. Hermione looked away from him, sniffling and didn't say a word in reply.

The Healer cleared his throat impatiently. Ron threw him a quick, icy glare and grabbed his bag off of the floor. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going," he muttered, standing and walking to the door. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

The Healer's nose wrinkled slightly in indignation as Ron left. He sniffed and watched the redhead close the door behind him before he turned back to his patient. Ron glanced back at Hermione one last time through the pane of glass in the door. Hermione met his eyes for half a second before looking away again. Ron sighed and walked down the hall.

"Now, Miss Granger," the Healer began.

* * *

_Special thanks to the lurvly reviewers: Lila Elensar(multiple), FondyCheesehead, Delia Cook, scifiaddict86 and IsisRose. I've run out of cookies and gold stars, but you can have stickers. :)_


	11. Lambda

**Dramatis Personae**

**Chapter 10**

**By Diocletian

* * *

**

Nymphadora Tonks sighed dramatically. She marched into the study, striding purposefully across the dark hard wood floor to stand in front of the desk perched beside one of the room's many windows. The occupant of said desk looked up at her sheepishly and she glared down on him, hands on hips, her now-blue eyes glinting at him dangerously.

"Have you any idea," she asked, "just how much time I spent making that?"

Remus Lupin, looking unsure, but most assuredly guilty, shrugged awkwardly.

"How long I stood there, carefully watching the clock, chopping and measuring ingredients so that they would be perfect, stirring it at the exact right times in the exact right direction? How worried I was that something would go wrong?" Lupin hunched down in his seat, seemingly in an attempt to make himself invisible. Tonks continued ruthlessly.

"And now, after slaving over it for God knows how long, you," she poked him in the chest, "you don't even try to eat it. Are you really that scared of my cooking skills?"

Remus swallowed. "Well..."

Tonks threw up her hands in exasperation. "For Pete's sake, Remus, it's chicken soup! How much harm could it do?"

"I got caught up in my book," the werewolf attempted in defense. "I've finally finished the first draft, so I'm very busy with my editing. I didn't even remember that you left it here."

Tonks snorted. "A likely story."

"It's true," Remus insisted. "And I know it's delicious, I don't even have to taste it to tell. I can smell it from here. See?" He sniffed the air theatrically. "Special werewolf smelling capabilities. Yum."

Tonks narrowed her eyes and was about to retort when the doorbell rang. It echoed throughout 12 Grimmauld Place and, even though the old portrait of Mrs. Black had been removed and burnt to a crisp years ago, Tonks and Remus still cringed slightly in reflexive expectation of the furious shrieking. After shaking herself back to her senses, Tonks glanced at the door of the study and slowly stepped away from Remus's desk. "If you think this is over, you've got another thing coming, Lupin."

She sauntered out of the study and down to the front door. As soon as she disappeared, Remus wrinkled his nose at the soup which continued to sit, seemingly innocent, beside his draft and quickly dumped it into a large potted fern that sat on the floor beside his desk. The plant shuddered for a moment before promptly turning purple. Remus sighed. Tonks may have been older and more mature than she used to be, but she was still Tonks.

Her voice floated in through the open door leading out into the stairway. "Oh yes, he's home. He's always home. That's why they call them recluses."

Remus rolled his eyes. He heard the front door shut as Tonks invited whoever it was inside. He listened as they came up the stairs, apparently heading towards the study. He figured that it was somebody from Obscurus Books, maybe his editor, wondering how the new book was going. But then he heard the familiar, but unexpected voice speak from the stairs.

"Tonks, are you sure that I'm not interrupting his work? Because I can come back..."

Hearing the tone of his voice, Remus could practically see the uncertain look on Ron's face. He stood up from his desk and went to the doorway just as Tonks and Ron reached the landing.

"No need for that, Mr. Weasley," he said, smiling genially and leaning against the doorjamb of the study. "The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is always welcome in my humble little boarding house."

"Oh _Gawd_," Ron moaned. "You heard about that?"

Tonks chuckled and patted the redhead comfortingly on the back. "Ron, mate. Everybody's heard about that. It was in the _'Prophet'_ this morning."

Ron's eyes looked like they were going to fall out of his head, they widened so much. "WHAT?" he squawked indignantly.

"It wasn't on the front page or anything," Tonks continued as though she hadn't heard him. "The Summit bombing still has a monopoly on that. But it was in there somewhere. They had a blip about the Ministry's upcoming downfall at the hands of the under-qualified children that many of the Departments were now going to be controlled by."

"Excuse me, what? I don't quite—"

"The Department Heads, Ronnie," Tonks replied, concern starting to slip into her voice. "You aren't the only one who suddenly got promoted yesterday. There are at least four of you, maybe five, I don't remember. Haven't you read the paper at all?"

Seeing the confused look on the younger man's face, Remus took pity on him and decided to try and explain the situation. "Four of the Ministry's Heads of Department were killed in the bombing. Another's still at St. Mungo's in critical condition. I think Darius Melforth and Ed Atwood are the only ones who managed to escape unscathed."

"Hot damn," Ron muttered to himself. "I didn't know any of that."

"Well, it is," Tonks chuckled mirthlessly, "rather a big shock. I can honestly say that _I_ wasn't expecting it."

"Nobody was expecting it, you crazy bint," a voice said from the stairs above them. "That's why it's such big news."

Remus, Tonks and Ron all turned to face the man who had spoken. He was a thin-looking fellow with chestnut-brown hair which was combed back in a prissy wave, and a long, narrow nose. Ron judged him to be a few years older than himself, roughly Tonks' age. He looked down at the three of them condescendingly and Tonks threw him a big grin. "Ooh Lysander, baby, you know I love it when you go all dominant on me."

The man, Lysander, sneered at her and walked down the stairs past them. "Sorry to interrupt you and your guest, Mr. Lupin, but I forgot my press pass on my dresser."

Remus waved his hand dismissively. "No problem, man. You live here, too." He turned to Ron and gestured him into the study. His eyebrows were raised, urging him to hurry. "Why don't you step inside, _Fred_? We can talk in here."

Before he could say a word, Ron found himself being harshly propelled by Tonks into Remus's study. Remus gave Lysander one final smile and a cordial nod before closing the door behind them. He turned back to a mildly irate Ron.

"I'm _RON_, remember? What the hell was that about? Who was that?"

Tonks rolled her eyes and stepped away from the door, where she'd had her ear pressed against the wood, apparently listening to the other man's footsteps disappearing down the stairs. She then went over and sat down on top of the desk while Remus cleared away the sheets of paper that made up his most recent draft. "That was Lysander Newkirk," she replied. "He's my fellow patron at 'Lupin's Grimmauld Place Boarding House'. He currently inhabits the room you and Harry used to share when you were teenagers."

"He's also a reporter for the Daily Prophet," Remus added. "That's why I wanted to get you away from him. If he'd known who you were, he would have torn you apart. You are currently a target that the press is anxiously awaiting a chance to pounce on."

Ron sighed and dropped himself into the chair in front of the desk. "Grand."

"So, tell us, Mr. Weasley," Tonks asked, looking mischievious, "give us the exclusive before the vultures get a hold of you: What caused the Summit Bombing?"

Ron sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. "We're still kind of working on that," he admitted. "Right now we're more trying to make sure everyone's okay than anything else, trying to get ourselves organized again."

Tonks grinned sardonically. "Yeah, that's what I figured. I haven't been called back in off my sick-leave, so I didn't think the real investigating would have started yet. It's really pissing off the 'Prophet', by the way. They're practically salivating over the prospect of writing about how incompetent you are."

Ron's nose wrinkled in irritation. "Yeah, I don't doubt it. But before I can really dedicate my every waking hour to trying not to royally fuck this whole thing up too badly, I need to find a Senior Deputy for the Department."

Remus frowned and leaned forward across the surface of his desk. "You don't have one?" Ron shook his head.

"I've got a Junior. Some guy I knew vaguely from school, smart fellow who just happens to be the Minister's second cousin's nephew thrice-removed or something. But I haven't got a Senior." Ron coughed uncomfortably and scratched his chin, trying not to seem awkward. "That's, umm… That's kind of, uh… It's part of the reason—Lord, this was a lot easier in my head—It's sort of why I'm, uh, here."

"What is?" Remus asked, curious despite himself.

"Huh?"

"What is it that you are here for?"

"Oh, yeah. That." Ron cleared his throat and tried to ignore Tonks' inquisitive stare as he fixed his gaze on Remus. "Uh, what are you going to be up to for the next couple of years? Busy, anything important scheduled or anything?"

The room was silent for a few moments, during which Remus furrowed his brow in mild puzzlement and Ron swallowed nervously. Then Tonks burst out laughing. "You want to hire REMUS?"

The werewolf's eyes bulged with comprehension and Ron winced at the tone of incredulity in Tonks' voice. "Is it really that preposterous?" he asked. "I mean, I have reviewed every single employee record open to me from the Ministry in the past 36 hours and I can't find a single person I'd rather have be my Senior Deputy. Well, aside from Harry, maybe, but he'd turn me down flat if I asked him. He likes being an Auror too much. Tonks is on sick-leave from that malaclaw thing for another four days and no one else, including her, wants to quit active duty in order to sit behind a desk for who-knows-how long.

"But, Remus," he continued ruthlessly, ignoring the doubtful look on Lupin's face, "I think you'd be good at this. REALLY good. I _need_ help, and if it came from someone who knew what the hell they were doing, it would certainly come in handy. If you say no, I'm gonna have to ask my dad or something, and I'd rather not do that if there is even the slight possibility that I don't have to."

Remus rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand while his left played with a lock of hair lying across his forehead. He paced for a few moments, deep in thought, while Tonks did her best to pretend she wasn't there so that the boys could concentrate on what they were doing. Finally, Remus released the grip he had on his neck and hair and swung his arms a couple of times at his sides. Then he turned back to Ron, who was chewing his bottom lip as he awaited a response.

"Can I sleep on it?" he asked at last. Ron frowned and let out a disappointed breath, but nodded.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. If you can let me know by the end of the work day tomorrow, though, I would appreciate it immensely." He cleared his throat and paused, suddenly appearing rather antsy and when he began to speak again, it was in a more hurried fashion. "I'll be at the office tomorrow morning, probably, and I won't be leaving until," Ron checked his watch and closed his eyes halfway, counting to himself and looking up at the ceiling, "roughly next month. So, whenever you make up your mind, let me know, okay? I should get going about now, but thanks for taking the time to see me."

Remus held out a hand, waving it disarmingly. "Woah, Ron. Calm down. I didn't say 'no'."

Ron sighed, exasperated. "No, but I can tell from the tone of your voice that you're going to. And when you contact me tomorrow, with your oh-so-polite refusal in hand, I'm still going to need SOMEONE to do it, so I kinda need to get on that. Like, _now_. So, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I should really be going."

Tonks gently grabbed Ron's elbow as he went to turn away. She looked at him with mild concern, but he just looked at his feet. "Are you okay, Ronnie?"

Ron's jaw clenched and he released a small, intense noise of frustration. Aside from all the pressure he was already under at the moment, he hated being called 'Ronnie'. "I'm _fine_," he muttered, tugging his arm out of Tonks grasp and walking down the stairs. "Fucking peachy."

He stormed the entire way down the steps to the front hall before leaving the house and slamming the door behind him. Remus looked inquisitively at Tonks, who shrugged. "What was that about?"

* * *

That night, Harry decided to take a short trip to Brighton on his way home in order to check on Ron. They had spent much of the day together at work, after Ron had returned to the Ministry from his venture to Lupin's. From what Harry had been able to glean from Ron's mood, it had not gone well. He felt sorry for his best friend, and he was more than a little worried. He was officially in charge of the enormous international investigation into the Summit bombing, he didn't have a deputy to delegate to, his fiancée was in the hospital and his unborn child was dead. Anybody would be stressed and with Ron's temperamental nature, it was more than likely that he was about to explode. 

Harry stopped in at the Leaky Cauldron to buy a couple of butterbeers before apparating to the safely fenced-in backyard of 547 Maybury Hill Road. With the two butterbeer bottles in hand, he knocked cautiously on the back door, even though he knew it wasn't locked. Hearing no response, he opened the door and stepped inside.

He put the two bottles on the kitchen counter before venturing down the short hall and into the living room. None of the lights were on, but he had a fairly good idea that that would be where Ron was hiding. Sure enough, when Harry stepped into the dark living room and flicked on the overhead light, he was met by the sight of a tall redheaded man slouching on an armchair and suddenly shielding his eyes from the unexpected brightness.

Ron groaned. "Fuck. Turn it off, you pillock."

Harry raised an eyebrow sardonically. "And let you continue sulking here alone in the dark? Not a chance. It's not healthy."

"Neither is shooting yourself, but the thought has occurred to me," Ron muttered. "I am so tired of this whole situation. I just want it to be over, and you and the damn light aren't helping." He stood slowly and stumbled over to the television set that was propped up in the corner of the room. Seeing the curious look being sent his way and completely misinterpreting it, Ron spoke again. "Hermione taught me how to use this thing ages ago. I like it. I like being able to see the reporters' faces when the bastards are telling us the world is going to hell."

Harry watched him carefully as he staggered back to his chair after turning on the television. He knew better than to take Ron too seriously when he was depressed, but he was a little concerned. He seemed a bit...off. A suspicion growing in his mind, Harry stepped closer to Ron's chair and sniffed. His thought was confirmed.

"You're drunk," Harry accused. Ron gave him a slightly off-kilter grin and waggled his finger in his friend's direction.

"See now, that there's what you call an acute observation."

Harry sighed. "I know you're going through a bit of a rough spot at the moment, mate—a bitingly, agonizingly painful spot, rather—but you shouldn't drink to drown your sorrows. Sorrow knows how to swim."

Ron snorted as a commercial ended on the screen in front of him. "Oh, right. I'm getting drinking advice from the alcoholic. That's a confidence booster."

Harry ignored the barb that had inadvertently been flung at him and went over to help Ron out of his chair. The redhead grumbled at him and the bleach-blonde reporter on the television started commenting perkily about the continuing heat wave throughout the UK and how, for the moment, the draught was keeping the water-ban firmly in place.

As they passed the open front hall window, Ron suddenly clutched at the curtain and pulled himself up to the sill. "Yeah, I hope he's watching that across the street!" he shouted outside, slurring for any and all of the neighbours to hear. "Him with his bloody fucking sprinklers on half the bloody fucking night!"

Reminded strongly of his Uncle Vernon on the night he had been attacked by Dementors during one of Britain's last water-bans, Harry yanked Ron away from the window, somewhat more forcefully than necessary, and tugged him into his room. He pushed him down to sit on the end of the bed and sat down on the floor in front of him.

"Ron," he began carefully. "I'm gonna tell you something that I know you don't want to be told, but which you need to hear, regardless. Okay?" Ron groaned and threw his body backwards onto the bed. "I'm taking that as a 'sure.'" Harry took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"Life is going to go on. I realize that you feel as though your world is tumbling down about your ankles, but tomorrow is going to come anyway—"

"Fucking inconsiderate of it," Ron mumbled.

"_And_," Harry persisted, reflecting absently that Ron said 'fuck' an awful lot when he was drunk, "you are going to have to face it, whether you go kicking and screaming or not. The sooner you accept it, the better it'll be for you." Ron's nose wrinkled in distaste. Harry decided one final incentive was needed. "And if you're still in this rut of yours tomorrow morning, I'm ringing up Molly and telling her that you need her to look after you for a few days—for your own good."

Ron sat straight up, not nearly inebriated enough to ignore the threat of his obsessively doting mother. "You wouldn't."

Harry's eyes narrowed in all seriousness. "Just try me."

"You miserable sod," Ron replied after unsuccessfully attempting to stare him down. "Mum isn't what I need to make me feel better. I need a healthy, happy family. But guess what? That doesn't seem to be working out! I no longer have a home-life to speak of. Plus, when I'm at work, the head of security for the representatives from Ju-tiki-stan or wherever-the-fuck-it-was is practically stalking me, demanding answers—"

"Tajikistan," Harry corrected.

"—That I can't give!" Ron continued, blatantly ignoring him. "I need a deputy. I have a damn press conference tomorrow, ordered by everybody's favourite bossy Minister, Manny Shoal, in front of representatives from almost two hundred countries. Can you imagine how bad it's going to look when I get up there? I mean, I don't know what the hell's going on myself! We had magical bomb detectors, we had armed security personnel, we had triple-layered anti-apparition wards up. This thing should not have happened!"

Ron suddenly collapsed onto his knees on the floor. He set his palms out in front of him, palms up, and stared at them unseeingly. After a moment, he spoke again. "I'm supposed to be a slacker, Harry. I mean, I've always been a slacker. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. I am one of those lucky people who are predisposed by nature to avoid hard work at any cost. How the hell did I get into this mess?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe it was just plain bad luck," he suggested, settling himself down on the floor beside Ron. "I mean, sometimes that's just the way the cookie crumbles. There's jack-shit we can do about it except struggle on. And..." He sighed and faced Ron directly, looking as though he would rather be disemboweling himself with a spoon than be saying what he was trying to say. "If you can't find a Senior Deputy you trust before the conference tomorrow..." His face twisted as he took the final leap. "I'll do it."

Ron stared at him blankly for a minute and Harry rushed to clarify the agreement. "I mean, I'll do it, but only until you find someone else. I _like_ being an Auror and I don't intend to give up on it so easily, but, you know, if you need me—"

Ron held up a hand to halt Harry in his rambling. He looked noticeably more sober than he had all evening and Harry was more relieved than he cared to say to see a small smile there. When he spoke, it was in a calm, level tone of voice, expressing nothing less than complete gratification. "Thank you, Harry."

Content, but feeling oddly humble, Harry shrugged in response. "Hey, I'm always here for you, man. I told you that yesterday. That's what best friends are for."

* * *

_**Dedicated to Lila and Magnolia Lane. Hugs and cookies!**_


	12. Mu

**Dramatis Personae**

**Chapter 11**

**By Diocletian**

_---------------------_

_Author's Notes: Oh. My. Goodness. I'm so sorry about how long this took. I'm a bad, bad person. This chapter's a little longer than usual, to try and make up for how long y'all waited for it. Dedicated to IsisRose, whose nagging prompted me to post it in the first place._

------------------

"Oh god, Remus, you have to get me out of this!"

Harry threw himself down onto his knees on the floor beside Remus's chair and held up his hands to the older man in supplication. "Please, please, please, please, please don't let me do this! I mean, do you have any idea how bad I would suck at this job? You have to agree, PLEASE!"

Remus looked at the young man in front of him in a pitying way and shook his head. "Harry, I really don't think that pleading with me is the best course of action to take in this kind of situation." Harry put his hands down and sat back on his haunches, relieving the pain in his knees. He held up a hand to keep the older man from continuing and fixed him with a piercing glare.

"Okay," he said fiercely, "I really didn't want to have to bring this up, Lupin, but you've left me little choice." He took a deep breath and paused for dramatic effect before announcing, "You have to do it because you owe me eleven years and eleven months of your life."

"Excuse me?"

Harry ignored the dumbfounded look on the man's face and merely continued gazing at him reproachfully. "You heard me."

"Then do explain how, pray tell, I 'owe' you twelve years of my life?" Genuine curiousity seemed to be showing through the irritation that Harry had expected, so he deemed the situation as being salvageable and decided to comply.

"Well, my parents went into hiding in October, '81, right? And that was the last time you would have played your role as an honourary uncle to baby-me before I got shipped off to the Dursleys. I never saw you again, at least not to my knowledge, until September '93. So, according to my math, you, the only person who, at the time, was free and morally obligated to be a source of support during my childhood, were completely and utterly absent for eleven years and eleven months. Therefore, you owe me."

Remus, trying not to feel guilty because he knew that wasn't what Harry was doing this for, thought that over for a second and realized something. "Harry, this is August 2005. It has now been eleven years and eleven months. I owe you diddly-squat."

Harry waved his finger at him, obviously expecting this argument. "My fourth year does not count in these equations. I never saw you during that school year or the summer before it. So you still have an extra year to pay off, mate."

"That's complete tosh and you know it," Remus stated.

"Sounds logical enough if you ask me," a voice said from the doorway. Both men looked up to see Tonks standing there, unnoticed until now, smiling encouraging at them. She came inside the study and proceeded to make herself comfortable on the loveseat underneath the window.

"No one did," Remus replied snarkily. "And thanks so much for waiting to hear my side of it."

Harry and Tonks both looked at him in vague disbelief at this announcement. "You have a side?" Tonks asked. "I thought you were just being lazy."

This comment did nothing to soothe Remus' nerves. "Has it occurred to either of you that maybe I'm doing this for Ron's own good?" He saw the two Aurors look at each other inquiringly before they both looked back at him. Tonks had one eyebrow raised in disbelief and Harry shook his head negatively.

"I'm afraid you lost me there, man."

Remus sighed at their apparent naivety and ran a hand through his mostly grey hair. Tonks' nose was scrunched up in confusion as she piped in, "But it was a perfectly reasonable offer—"

"—That was made to a werewolf!" he exclaimed. "The wizarding world would never accept something like that."

Tonks went silent, forgetting what she had wanted to say. She hadn't really considered the possibility that Remus was going to deny Ron's job offer because of his lycanthropy. It wasn't something that occupied her thoughts very much. At least, not after she had gotten to know him and gotten used to the monthly ritual of locking him up in the basement on full-moon nights so that idiot Lysander wouldn't stumble across him, and going to fetch him the next morning. It was just another aspect of Remus as a person as far as Tonks was concerned: something to get used to, certainly, but not something to worry about. She had thought that he was going to say no because he just liked staying at home all day and shutting himself in his study to write books. She had automatically assumed that he could keep his affliction a secret and that nobody at the Ministry would have to know because it was none of their bloody business.

But the position Ron was offering was a very political appointment. Senior Deputy Head of the DMLE. Remus' records would be open for the entire world to see. The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, even the Quibbler—they would all have a field day. And aside from the fact that Remus would probably end up being harassed by owls sent by people who were telling him he should go and drown himself in the nearest well if he had any sense of decency, it would also end up being even more ammunition for the media to use against Ron than what they were already no doubt collecting.

Remus seemed to sense her thoughts. "Do you have any idea what the impact upon Ron's credibility at the Ministry would be?" he asked. "The Minister would never trust him to make a decision again."

Harry, however, was thinking back on how Ron had been reacting ever since he had been appointed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He glanced at Remus again for a moment before realization struck him. "You know, Lupin," he said slowly. "I don't really want to be the one to tell you this, but I kind of get the impression that that might have been exactly what Ron had in mind in the first place."

Remus stared at him blankly. After a moment, Harry just shook his head and walked toward the door. He paused before he left and sent one final look at his older friend. "Moony, I really do think you should do it. All joking and desperate pleading on my behalf aside, you would be good at this. And... Ron could really use the help. He's kind of having a rough time these days. But it's your choice." Harry nodded once at Tonks in farewell and walked away.

Tonks glanced at Remus and shook her head. "All joking aside—you don't do it, I'm not sleeping with you for a month." She stood and followed Harry's path to the door. "I'm going to attempt to make it up to my room for the night without pissing off Lysander. Have a good night, Rem."

-------------------------

After Harry left for the night, Ron, who was now feeling much more sober than he felt he deserved to feel, decided that he may as well clean up the numerous liquor bottles he had scattered around the house throughout the evening. If Hermione ever saw the place in such a condition, she would probably have an all-out conniption fit before kicking Ron out of their bedroom for a week. And so Ron, displaying a trait most men don't develop until after they have been married for quite some time, managed to feel embarrassed of the state of the house on Hermione's behalf.

He was just dropping an armful of empty bottles into the sink where he could rinse them out when he heard someone knocking tentatively on the back door. Curious about who would be visiting him so late at night, Ron went to answer. Maybe Harry had forgotten something?

When he reached the door, he opened it and peered outside into his dark backyard, squinting in an attempt to identify his caller, who was now pacing. Even in the dim, cloud-choked moonlight, Ron was able to recognize the trademark red hair and imp-like stature of his baby sister. Hearing the door open, she halted her motions and looked up at him.

"Hello Ron," she greeted simply.

Ron smiled and beckoned at the door he was holding open. "Oh, hey Gin. You wanna come in?"

Ginny shook her head and Ron noticed a thick file folder Ginny was clenching tightly in her right hand as she replied. "No, I can't stay long."

"Too bad. How are you tonight? You look..." Ron paused and tried to come up with a word that would be moderately honest, without being insulting. "Okay."

Ginny gave him her far-too-familiar 'don't be stupid' look. "I look like shite, Ron. I've just had a thirty-some storey building fall on me."

"Yeah, well, there's nothing wrong with trying to be polite," he remarked. He paused, his gaze again being drawn to the cream-coloured folder in Ginny's hand. "So, uh, what have you got there?"

Ginny glanced down at it and then looked back up at her brother. "It's for you." Ron's eyebrows went up, his interest piqued.

"Well, that's nice, but what is it?"

Ginny seemed to be having a hard time meeting his eyes. "File," she said. "A file that... I thought you might find helpful."

Ron's brow furrowed and he began to feel suspicious. "What kind of file are we talking about here?" He realized that it must be something pretty important to make Ginny come out there at that hour.

"It's..." She paused and then sighed, but continued quietly after she took a moment to collect herself. "It's an unauthorized copy of a case observation that the Department of Mysteries has been pursuing for the past three weeks or so. We're—we aren't supposed to make copies of the stuff we work on, but I kind of had a personal stake in this one, so I did, and now they're talking about not releasing any of this stuff until the Minister himself sends in a formal request for it. They don't want to believe that our investigation had anything to do with it, so they want to see if the DMLE can find any other possible causes for the bombing first, but..." Ginny met his eyes for the first time since she had arrived, "they're just trying to cover their own asses. You aren't going to find it anywhere else." She paused again before slowly walking over to stand right in front of Ron. She held out the thick file, indicating for him to take it. "You need this, even if Ruttledge's replacement is too fucking stupid to see it. So, I'm giving it to you."

Hesitantly, Ron accepted it, frowning the whole time. "Ginny..."

"It's not all in there," she continued, purposely ignoring him. "But I got what I could and I think your department may have some information following up our investigation into Theodore Nott and Scott Spiegel. You'll want to check that stuff out, too." Ron nodded absently and flipped through the papers inside the folder, skimming over the things he had read in his own department's files. Then, however, he spotted an unfamiliar page near the back. He pulled it out, reading it, and then froze.

"Oh my god," he murmured to himself. "Are you sure this is...?"

"It's all true," Ginny answered, anticipating the question. "I can swear that much to you." She was obviously uncomfortable with the situation she was putting herself in. She had to force herself to swallow several times and take a number of deep breaths before she could speak again. "Ron, if anyone asks, you didn't get that from me. Someone owled it to you, unsigned, but marked with the Department of Mysteries official seal, okay? If anyone finds out that I gave this to you, I am so sacked that it won't be funny."

Ron sent her a concerned look. "Then why did you give it to me, Gin? I know how hard you've worked to get where you are. Why would you risk it? We could have gotten it from Shaw (or whoever's in charge of the DM now) eventually."

She sighed quietly, walking towards the center of the backyard, and gazed back at her brother sadly.

_We're going to find whoever did this. And Dennis, I swear that we'll make them pay for it._

"Because I made someone a promise today," she replied. "And this is the only thing I can think of that might help me keep it." She looked down at her hands for a moment, weaving her fingers in and out of each other awkwardly. Finally, she pulled her wand out of her belt and managed to pull her eyes back towards Ron. "When you see Hermione tomorrow, tell her I say hi and that I hope she's feeling better. Good-night, Ronnie."

Ron smiled faintly as she apparated away and looked back down at the file she had given him. "'Night Ginny-Bean."

--------------------------

When Ginny left Ron and Hermione's house in Brighton, she had apparated to 215 Fairview Crescent without a thought. Aside from work, it was her usual destination when she apparated and habit had caused her to simply repeat an action she had long grown used to. But as the crack sounded her arrival home, she realized that this was the first time she had been back to the flat since the morning before the explosion.

And Colin wasn't there.

She glanced around, the fact that her roommate was currently lying half-dead in a bed at St. Mungo's taking a moment to dawn on her. She saw a couple of CDs, including the soundtrack to Sunset Boulevard, sitting one on top of another on the shelf of the entertainment centre in the corner. All around the place there were pictures of her and Colin hanging out together, pictures of fun or important events in their lives, pictures of their families. One in particular which drew her attention was the full-colour 10x12 of Colin, Dennis and their father, Mr. Creevey, which hung on the wall above the sofa. And there, tossed across the back of one of the squashy armchairs they had sitting in front of the large living room windows, was that damn purple shirt Col had been making such a fuss about the other day.

The sight of the last item caused a chill to travel down Ginny's spine. She felt her breath hitching and tightly closed her eyes, but she couldn't block the memory from her mind.

_"Besides, you didn't tell your father you were gay until you were 17. What's the difference?"_

_Colin scowled and replied darkly. "I'd only known for sure that I even WAS gay for about a year, Gin, even if you say you'd suspected since we were 12. One year. You're 24. You've been an Unspeakable for five years now. FIVE! You have a Jacobian Schmidt Achievement award for your work as a FIELD RESEARCHER. You'd think your mum might want to know what you really got it for." He paused when he spotted a bit of purple inside her closet and pulled out his shirt. He held it up and grinned triumphantly before realizing exactly where he was. "And aside from that, what the hell is MY shirt doing in YOUR closet?"_

Despite the tears she felt welling up, Ginny let out a watery, somewhat hysterical laugh. She really didn't know how Colin's shirt had ended up in her closet. She had realized years ago that purple did not flatter a person who had red hair and/or, as Col loved to point out, freckles.

Unable to hold back a staggered sob, Ginny fumbled with her wand and apparated out of the apartment as quickly as she could without splinching herself. Unwilling to go back to Brighton or to the Burrow, where her parents were no doubt worrying about her anyway, Ginny ended up in the first place she could think of where she wouldn't have people demanding that she talk about how she was feeling.

-----------------------

Harry, for his part, made a valiant effort not to appear completely out to field about the sobbing young woman who had just appeared in his study.

He'd just gotten home from his visit to Grimmauld Place, had made himself a late night roast beef sandwich and had gone to his study to try and relax after a very stressful evening. He was just pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle he kept hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk when Ginny arrived unexpectedly with a loud pop, causing him to knock his supposedly-secret bottle onto the floor.

The amber liquid quickly spilled out across the carpet and Harry muttered a quiet "Fuck," under his breath. He went to pick it up and cap the remaining contents before quickly stashing it back into its drawer, hoping Ginny hadn't noticed, but it would have required quite a bit of effort on Ginny's part to have missed it.

Sniffling as she wiped her eyes, she caught the very obvious scent of whiskey in the air and sent Harry an accusatory look through her tears. "You're a drunk," she stated in a vaguely vindictive way.

"Yeah, that's polite," Harry replied sarcastically. But he could see how distressed Ginny was, so he sighed and handed her his partially-filled glass. "You okay?"

She sniffed again and gulped down the contents of the glass. She shook her head. "I just… I can't take being back there right now, you know?"

"At your and Colin's flat?" Ginny nodded and Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He thought back to the antics Ron had gotten up to at his own place now that Hermione had been hurt. "That's fine, Gin. Totally normal."

Ginny shuddered and leaned into him, as if she was trying to hide herself from the rest of the world. "I'm just so scared, Harry. The Healers say that Colin could die and I am so powerless, there is nothing I can do and I just, I hate it, I just..." She trembled again and buried her face into his shoulder. "I'm so scared. I don't know what I would do with my life if something happened to Col. He's always been there, you know? I mean, I've hung out with you and Hermione and Ron occasionally, during my last couple of years in school and now that we all work at the Ministry and all, but Col's always been around. We've been friends since first year, we've worked together since we graduated, we've lived together since I left home. I can't properly remember a time without him."

Harry wanted to empathize. He had lost a lot of people during the war, people who had meant a lot to him. But Ginny losing Colin would be like Harry losing Ron and the concept was just too painful for Harry to even contemplate it. Hermione was a close friend too, obviously, but Ron was his best friend, the one with whom he had the most in common, who understood more about Harry than Harry probably got about himself. What would life be like if something were to happen to Ron?

Harry closed his eyes in an attempt to block out his thoughts and gave Ginny a hug. "You wanna crash here for the next few days?" he asked quietly.

Ginny looked surprised at the offer and then frowned, still trying not to sniffle. "I don't want to be a bother, Harry," she mumbled. Harry just shook his head.

"Don't even worry about it."

At this point, Brutus the over-hyper Yorkshire terrier finally decided to make an appearance, tiny black nose suddenly sticking out from around the study doorway. Obviously smelling Ginny's familiar scent, he quickly pushed his way inside and jumped up onto her lap. Startled at first, she nearly pushed him off and onto the floor, but after realizing what was going on, she managed to smile and scratch the happy dog behind the ears.

Harry shook his head. "Look at him, just lapping up the attention." He lowered his gaze and looked right at Brutus and shook his finger at him. "You are supposed to be asleep, chum. Go on back to your basket. Go on."

Brutus whimpered once or twice, but Harry just pointed towards the door and so he leapt reluctantly down from the comfort and warmth of Ginny's lap and scurried out of the study and back out to the kitchen, where his cushioned basket was located. Ginny looked at Harry and pouted. "I didn't mind him, you know. You didn't have to send him away."

"He's like a spoiled child, Gin. If I were you, I wouldn't lose any sleep over the fact that I sent him off to go back to his comfier-than-my-bed basket."

Ginny sighed and slumped further in her seat. "You know what I want, right here, right now?" she asked after a moment. "I want to find whoever is responsible for the bombing and light them on fire after ripping their eyes out with razor wire."

"That seems to be the consensus of the general wizarding population," Harry commented.

Ginny nodded at that before sending Harry a mildly curious look. "How about you, Potter? What do you want right this second?"

Harry chuckled humorlessly at the question. "I think what I want most, aside from keeping this whole thing from ever happening, is for Remus to apparate into the room and tell me that he'll accept the Senior Deputy of the Department of Law Enforcement position so that I don't have to worry about it anymore." Seeing the incomprehension on Ginny's face, he explained. "I promised Ron I'd take the job if he couldn't find anyone else before his press conference tomorrow."

Ginny's face furrowed with distaste. "Oooh, a press conference. That sounds fun. Ick."

"My sentiments exactly. Reporters, foreign investigators, political critics and experts." Harry glared at the empty, inoffensive wall in front of him, which if it had known what was good for it, would have run screaming for the hills. "If you can't already tell, I'm anticipating this event with roughly the same amount of enthusiasm one usually saves for a bad case of gonorrhea."

Ginny patted Harry on the shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. "Poor baby," she murmured. Harry looked up at her just in time to see her yawning.

"You're exhausted," he observed. "Come on out to the living room and make yourself at home on the hideaway bed while I get you some pillows and stuff." Ginny gave him a small, tired smile of thanks and let him lead her as he left the study, heading for the next room.

"Thanks Harry. You're too good to me. I adore you for it."

"I know," he replied, wrapping a soothing arm around her shoulders. "But it's really not a problem. Tonight, you need a good night's sleep and I intend to see that you get it."

Ginny stopped walking, which incidentally caused Harry to stop also. She gazed at him for a moment with an oddly gentle look in her eyes before suddenly leaning up on her toes and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks just the same, though," she said softly.

Harry shifted awkwardly for a few seconds, not knowing what to say to that. Ginny took pity on him. "I'll get the blankets and set everything out if you get me a pillow, Potter. Then we can both get some much-needed shut-eye. What do you say?" He didn't say anything, but he did nod, so Ginny went off towards the bathroom, where the linen closet was.

Harry looked around the room for a minute, spotting a couple of throw pillows in a pile on the floor, no doubt dragged down there by Brutus. He picked them up and shook them a bit to clean off the surface dust and whatever fur might have been on them before tossing them onto the arm of the couch. Pulling off the surface cushions, he propped them up against the wall behind the couch so that they'd be out of the way and then grabbed the handle that was now visible at the back of the couch seat. Getting a firm grip, he gave a sharp, specially-angled tug and, after a brief and furious struggle, managed to pull the elusive hideaway bed from its normal resting place.

Ginny returned around this time and watched his valiant efforts with the hideaway. She managed to smile, forgetting for just a few minutes about Colin's plight and about everybody else who had been affected in the Summit bombing. She waited until Harry had finished unfolding the troublesome bed before she made her presence known, stepping forward and tossing the sheets she had retrieved onto the mattress. Harry turned to look at her and he must have seen the mocking on her face, because he shrugged sheepishly.

"At least I didn't slice my palm wide open this time," he remarked, referring to the multiple occasions in the past when he had done just that when Ginny needed to spend the night.

Ginny nodded. "Always a good thing, that." She picked up one of the sheets she'd put on the mattress and started unfolding it. "Why don't you head off to bed? I think I can manage from here and you look almost as beat as I feel."

Harry nodded, and Ginny reached over to give him a hug good-night. "Sweet dreams, Scary Harry," she murmured, causing Harry to chuckle at the old, lame nickname. If his memory served correct, that name had been conceived in the midst of a drunken stupor the two of them had indulged in together, along with Ron, Hermione, Colin, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood and several others, shortly after Ginny's graduation.

"Same to you, Ginny-Bean."

"Ugh." Ginny stuck her tongue out at the childish name her brothers had dubbed her with more than twenty years before, and tried to nudge Harry towards the hall in the hopes that he would take the hint and go away. "Git," she said. "Gerroff."

He laughed and squeezed her shoulder one last time before striding out to his own bedroom. Ginny went back to unfolding her sheets for several moments, listening intently. Then she heard Harry's bedroom close. She dropped the sheet, tossing it carelessly back onto the bed, and went toward the study. She entered through the door and went directly to his desk, bending down to open the bottom drawer. She immediately found what she was looking for: the half-full bottle of whiskey.

Grabbing it and quietly closing the drawer again, she left the study and proceeded into the kitchen. Brutus raised his head from his basket when she came it, but she muttered, "Shu shush!" and he laid back down. Ginny walked right over to the sink, uncapped the bottle and poured the contents of it down the drain. When that was done, she dropped the bottle and cap into the wastebasket and looked back at Brutus, who whimpered quietly.

"Shh!" she whispered conspiratorially. "It'll be our little secret."

_----------------------_

_August 26, 2005:_

Ron woke up with a start the next morning. Jerking straight up from where he had been slumped across the top of his desk, he spun around wildly, taking a few seconds to figure out where he was. It was only after he realized that he had fallen asleep in his home office that he noticed that he also had a sheet of paper stuck to the side of his face. Frowning, he pulled it off, not noticing the imprinted black smudges it left on his face, and clutched it between both hands, reading quickly. Realizing what it was, he spun around again, searching the room frantically with his eyes for the rest of the Unspeakable file Ginny had given him the previous night before noticing that it was still sitting safely on the desk in front of him.

He quickly skimmed through it to make sure it was intact before breathing a sigh of relief. He glanced up at the clock, but had to stare at it for a few seconds in disbelief at how long he had slept. He had little time to spare before he was needed at the DMLE's pending press conference, but he took a moment to marvel at the fact that he had been able to sleep at all after the day he'd had yesterday. "Probably the hangover," he mumbled to himself. "I am not looking forward to facing reporters today."

Knowing he had to anyway, and knowing he had to do it soon, Ron stood and quickly went to his wardrobe to get changed before grabbing the Unspeakable file and his wand, and apparating into the Ministry.

"Ugh," Harry said to himself as he slumped against a wall outside of one of the Ministry's Public Relations conference halls, waiting dully for Ron to arrive. He noticed a young man, an intern by the looks of him, watching him curiously. "Yeah, I said 'Ugh'. Do you have a problem with that?" The intern, surprised at being acknowledged, shook his head quickly. "Then what the hell are you looking at? Go work or something."

The intern scurried away and Harry sighed. He didn't enjoy being cruel to anonymous underlings, but he hadn't seen his therapist in two months and was feeling vengeful lately now that he didn't have an outlet.

And the fact that Ron seemed to be aiming to be late for his own press conference after he had practically begged Harry for his help the previous day was NOT helping.

He checked his watch for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes. Six minutes to press time. Hair, make-up and prepping with the Minister's aids was supposed to take at least ten. Assorted reporters and journalists from all around the world had gathered in the room behind him ages ago, but there was still no sign of the newly-appointed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry chewed anxiously on a fingernail. He didn't want his first duty as Deputy Head of the DMLE to be making up excuses for Ron's tardiness.

A pale, gangly man with thick glasses poked his head out of the doorway and looked in Harry's direction with quite a lot of concern on his face. "Where is he?" he asked.

"I've already told you, Francis. When he gets here, I'll let you know."

Francis Xavier, the person who was taking over Ron's old position as Junior Deputy of the Department, sighed despairingly and ducked back into the PR room.

Just as Harry was about to give up and go apologize to everybody for the inconvenience, Ron's hurried footsteps came thudding towards him from down the corridor. Harry watched in apprehension as the redhead ran up to him and slid to a halt, bending half-over to put his head between his legs (as well as he could while still standing) and try to catch his breath. Panting, he looked up for a second and gave Harry a sheepish look. "Good morning!"

Harry stared at him, a mix of relief and apprehension mingling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. "Er, good morning to you, too," he said. "Are you aware that there is backwards writing all over the side of your face?"

Ron continued trying to catch his breath before speaking again, ignoring Harry's question completely. "Is everybody in there already?"

"Uh, yeah. Oh, hell, hang on, I've got to get Fran and the others. They need to get you ready."

Ron's face twisted in disgust. "Damn it, Harry. I had almost forgotten that I'm a full-fledged politician now, and then you had to go and bring up the fact that I'm being expected to wear make-up in public."

"Only when you've got to stand up in front of representatives from almost two hundred countries and deliver serious announcements about their dead comrades," Harry replied, refraining from adding, 'And not look like a stupid ponce with scribbles all over his face while you're doing it.' He went to the doorway of the PR room and looked in, while gesturing at Ron to stay well back, safely out of sight until he was ready. He caught Francis's eye, which wasn't difficult seeing as Fran had been frantically shooting glances at the door every two seconds or so in nearly hysterical anticipation of Ron's arrival. Harry nodded at him and Fran practically bolted for the door. Seeing him go, a number of other people quickly, but quietly followed.

"Sir? Oh sir, thank Heavens you're here!" he said as he flung himself out into the hall. "We've been so very worried! What the hell have you got on your face?"

Ron rubbed his cheek self-consciously as the other people left the conference room and came out to see him. Seeing the motion, one of the women immediately pulled something out of the bag she carried and started wiping at his face with it. Too startled to move away, Ron stared at her awkwardly. Another one of the crowd started rolling a brush over Ron's robes, cleaning off any lint and dust and yet another began to brush his hair. The only one not fawning over him, aside from Harry and Fran, was a young woman who carried a very business-like air around her. She stood up straight and gave Ron a long, appraising look.

"My name is Adele Margrett, Mr. Weasley," she said a last. "I am Minister Shoal's press secretary. He has given you the use of my services until we can get the current crisis under control. These are members of my staff." She gestured at the bunch hovering around him. "They're making sure you look suitable for your appearance today."

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs… Miss… Ma'am," Ron replied, making a move to shake her hand, but the make-up girl batted his arm back down to his side. Harry chuckled. The secretary gave a brief, tight smile.

"Adele is fine. Now, generally we go over your planned speech beforehand, but I don't believe we have enough time to cover the whole thing today. If we go over the major points, though, we should—"

"Am I in the right place?" a voice suddenly asked from behind Harry. He spun around and was met by the sight of Remus Lupin, fiddling absently with the sleeves on a brand new set of dress robes and looking uncomfortable. "Or am I too late?"

"Oh, thank God," Harry muttered. He thought he just might faint in relief at the sight of the older man. Fran looked confused, but Adele merely raised a speculative eyebrow.

"Can we help you?" she asked politely. Remus shot her a glance before looking back to Ron.

"I'm hoping I might actually be able to help YOU out, as much as I'm able. That is, of course, if Ron's offer still stands?"

Ron studied him pensively for a moment or two, but then a grin broke across his face. Harry sighed, relaxing. "Hell yes, it does! Welcome on board, man!" He turned to Adele. "This is Remus Lupin, my Senior Deputy Head of Department."

"But I thought…" She stopped. She must have been working in politics for a while now, Harry realized as she recovered almost instantly, as though she had merely displaced any mention of Harry from her mind and replaced him with Lupin, and proceeded the same way as previously planned. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Lupin. My name is Adele Margrett and I'm Mr. Weasley's acting press secretary. We were just about to go over some of the major points of Mr. Weasley's speech. Now, obviously, he will start off by introducing himself, you and Mr. Xavier to the public. Then, I think he should move onto discussing the procedure that is being followed for the basic investigation into the…"

Harry tuned her out as he yanked off his tie and went back into the raucous crowd of reporters in the next room. He'd hear it all soon enough and he wanted to spend at least a couple of minutes basking in pure and utter relief. After all, there was still a minute to the scheduled press time; what was the big hurry?

-----------------------------


End file.
